


Sincerely Yours

by Anonymous



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Community: badbadbathhouse, Daddy Issues, Family, Gen, Mommy Issues, Psychological Drama, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, hints of emotional/verbal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-10-01
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every now and then, Souji receives letters from his parents. He's happy, but he'd be happier if he didn't write those letters himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for a bathhouse [request](http://badbadbathhouse.livejournal.com/1655.html?thread=11309175#t11309175):
>
>> Souji's parents haven't contacted since he arrived. The letters he gets from them are actually ones he writes to himself. Someone ~~Yosuke~~ manages to find out, maybe when they catch him writing one.
>> 
>> Whether he's doing it to make himself feel better or to make his friends/Dojima think his parents are keeping in touch with him so they won't worry is up to anon.
> 
>   
> This version is mostly typo corrections and small edits (which should add up to an overall better experience). Any chapters with a bigger difference will have a note at the end.

The first letter arrives shortly after Yukiko's rescue. It sits on the table, innocent. Nanako asks if she'll be in his return letter, which he assures her is a secret. He's certain she ponders that through her quiz show.

In his room, the envelope lies open on his lap, letter still closed between his fingers. Eyes unfocused, he first spoils himself, dreaming of all the possible scribbles. A raise? Special invite party? The return address stamps Germany, but a move is scheduled for next month. Do they know where yet? 

Do they know of the murders yet? He flips the letter straight, decides to solve one mystery early.

_Dear Souji,_

_How do you like the new location? Sorry, but you know circumstances aren't always great. Maybe you can stay with us next time._

His heart livens a little. It's possible. Every year the chance grows. His senior year will go right.

_You'll be fine. Consider this a learning experience. Take it all in, I'm sure you'll cherish it later. Your father says to set your sights high again. Go for better than last year!_

_Best of luck, keep it together._

_Love,  
Mom_

Souji blinks, carefully turning the letter. The back is blank. On the front, his mother's loopy handwriting gravitates around the center. Enough white surrounds it to fill his room, but he doesn't want to look at that. It's blinding anyway.

Instead he reads it. Really reads it. The words cling to his mind. He shuts his eyes, reads the letter from memory, every tendril an exact replica. Then the paper in his hands feels solid, not flimsy. The smile on his face hides when a hand rests on his shoulder, and his ears relay it's bedtime.

He rifles through the room an extra two hours afterward anyway, partly thanks to the need for silence, but mostly because he doesn't want to pass up anything. He has no box for this letter. He'll need to pick out a new one, nicer than before, tomorrow.

*

He waits until Yukiko's recovered to write his own letter. His writing's speedy, kind of messy, but he keeps it because he might forget something he wants to say. They have to hear every word.

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_Inaba's new. I'm starting to like it. The rain's so beautiful here. It's refreshing, brings out a dreamy scent. I think you might like it too._

His pen taps incessantly, waiting on his brain. Tell them of the incidents?

_We have a Junes! ...And that's about it. But the quiet's relaxing, so I don't mind as much._

Glancing at his Mom's writing, he dissects his father's comment. Last year? Hard to top academically. Something new he could excel in? 

_I have friends. 3...faster, and more than I hoped ♥ It's going to be a fun year, I just know it._

_It's strange, living with this side of the family. Early adjustments, right? Nanako's sweet. Ah, Dojima-san isn't home very often._ \--Heavy movements downstairs chime his present availability. _I'll try to get to know him._ His cell rings, but he ignores it, planning to write until the paper has drained his thoughts fully.

_Oh, I joined basketball! The team isn't very dedicated. Last time, everyone just worked on outdoing each other._ He only notices it while writing, but _Even that passion's missing. Maybe I should get everyone together, boost the camaraderie._

_Music's involving. I'm glad, even if the cello part's been decided. I should be able to negotiate it in the future..._ He lifts the pen, twirls it absently. He wants to eternalize more, but the passing days fall behind.

_The teachers are better this time too. I'm not intimidated. A little scared, but kind of for a different reason. Wait,_ Perhaps his cue to stop. _not a bad reason. Maybe I shouldn't have put that._ He can't scratch it out now and taint the paper. _Anyway, you don't need to worry._

_Miss you,  
Souji_

A smile spreads this time he lifts the pen. The ideas flitting in his head are ones he needs to contend with first. He can't free them by mouth or hand just yet. His hands start folding, tucking, so his letter is hugged by the envelope. He won't send it immediately. Instead he turns the lights off, keeps it on his desk.


	2. Second Letter

He doesn't notice the second letter until mid-way through a war with his pajamas. Deserted on his desk, it prompts him to tug his bottoms up fully. He apologizes, knows it's from his father. He leaves it, manages to untangle his futon and collapse inside. He's stuck staring at the letter, excessively drained. It pleads, but he stays. The pleasure will be magnified come dawn. His eye lids fall, breath becomes lazy.

He promises not to wait again, seventy-three minutes later.

_Dear Souji,_

_Things are going well. Aside from the co-workers with a mission to drive us up the wall. Your mother thinks we get along well. She's being optimistic._ His laughter is private, and he submerges fully. _The new office isn't ideal, but the relaxation facilities are definitely worth it._ Personal experience, he'll bet. _Makes you wonder who's budgeting this... The apartment is nice though: great view. It's a distraction, but that might be a blessing._ He traces the southeast corner.

_We have another gallery visit. I'm looking forward to the art, but not the stampede sure to follow. Send some of your equipment along to protect me._

_I heard about the area. Don't worry, there has to be something nice about it. Make a friend or two. Just don't let them take advantage._

_Love,  
Dad_

This letter is different. It retains familiarity, fills a puzzle cut-out beside the other sky pieces his dad completes. The river of black ink spills down, over the sides, and never stops, flows into him at the very end. Neither side is empty.

_P.S. - Your mother sends hugs._

He tries rotating it, angling it. It's small, envelope-sized, so maybe he can read both faces at the same time. He lowers it with the hour, until it touches the desk and his head's snuggling his arm.

It sounds even better in the morning light.

*

Souji's beneath a fox-blanket, watched by cranes, frogs, and tuna. He doesn't need much else.

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_I have 4 friends now. I think I'll be getting a 5th soon too. Is counting conceited? I just don't want the number to go down._ He also doesn't need the wisdom imparted earlier. But he wants it, proceeds to keep it. _They're not like that, Dad. It doesn't feel like it, at least._ A crane flies into his hand. He tucks it behind the fox's ear.

 _What did you hear? And from where? It might take some time to see if you aren't looking, but Inaba has nice qualities._ The feeling he has now, as though the very walls may be blown away, counts as part of the appeal. _I should craft a special report, just to prove it._ A hardcore project, pitting Inaba against whichever city borrowed them. That would give him excuse to interview his friends. Priceless.

 _There's nothing to push or pull you, so connecting with people is simple. Like being locked in a room with someone. Ah, guess I'm lucky I haven't come across someone I hate (yet, right? ahaha♪)._ A crane hits his neck, and he frowns at the fox, wondering if it's reading over his shoulder. He shifts to block its view. _The environment's really comforting. I adore studying outside, under the trees by the river ♥ so relaxing, and it's like nature studies with you. Or maybe it just studies you..."_ His face screws up. A few days ago, that branch's boldness went up as the sun went down.

 _And it's easier to get a job. Legal, of course, but the requirements are much more lax._ He flicks the frog. _I work at a daycare. The kids are extra rowdy on Monday, and some get these really crazy ideas. No, really._ He takes his time, weighs the stories against one another. A far more tame wind sweeps the area with the fox's tail. When the fur brushes him, he relaxes. The critters chatter quietly, and it creates a lulling melody.

 _Do you like kids? Aside from me_ He scratches it out, almost scratches everything out. The paper wears until his pen lifts. A tail beats against him with an easy rhythm. When his blood pumps to that pace, his fingers provide the hook.

 _It's hard to calm them down. Solve one problem and they'll make another._ He stops again, hovers over that line too.

Souji rushes on four breaths later. _I'm doing other things on the side... Did you like this letter? You should use this as a centerpiece!_ Their accents are made by him. But he's never taken center. He hopes this one can fix that.

_Are you settled? It sounds like you're slacking!_

He knows-- seaside, his father's favorite --but _What kind of view is it? You haven't told me where they sent you._ Their return address hasn't changed, as he recalls. ...Which can't be right... _Should I guess? Give me better hints!_

_Love,  
Souji_

He throws the pen, knocking a tuna in the process. He doesn't want to add more.

He tears it in half.

A perfect centerpiece.

*

Souji tapes it in the morning, scrawls a huge SORRY! on back. He crumples it, catches it before it hits the garbage and unfolds it. Wreaths and bubbles and mustaches surround the words when he leaves for school.

*

A folded triangle adorns his desk just before dinner. The inside maintains the outward neatness. It isn't the square he wanted, but it's not the message he wanted either.

He's satisfied; no room left in his belly. When he throws the cupboards open, it's a hunt for a companion, one to help him start this fire.

*

His homework is plain next to the dazzling square. He stops, just short of slipping the rhombus inside the envelope. The stamp doesn't match. Rather, his letter doesn't, since he changed the paper.

It doesn't match...

*

The disaster rots on his desk until he can decide its fate. It's pouring, and Kanji's still in there, so he doesn't have time to fix it.

There's another diamond on his desk, neat, folded backwards so that his words wrap 'round like ribbons.

A centerpiece.


	3. Mini Vacation

He borrows the school equipment for his project. He collects everyone's favorite part of Inaba. Surprisingly, the answers are all different, most he never considered. He suspects there's more to each story, how way everyone drifts away from the present while confessing. It spurs him to turn the question on himself, at home, for every place he's stayed.

*

Unless the title belongs to himself, Souji is not fond of guests. They inspire anxiety, and this one is no different. His uncle's idiot partner crashes for dinner on the night of Souji's third letter. He sneaks entirely below the mess of a human's radar until half-way up the stairs when a light-hearted joke penetrates his ear. He mustn't be rude, loathes it, but returns to make up for that display.

The envelope's a casualty, but he only earned five minutes-- four after the necessary water, soap and towel dry.

_Dear Souji,_

_I found something you might like in a store today. It reminded me of just how lonely it gets when you're not here. Your father agrees._ As does he. _We just can't see enough of each other, can we? Let's do something together next time. What? I'm not sure exactly, but it doesn't have to be one thing. Let's make a list, and do everything on it!_

_•Order an extraordinary ice cream spread, and race to finish before it melts_  
 _•Catch a historic lecture on the lives of forward thinkers in the 1470s_ She likely already bought tickets.  
 _•Secure the trophy of a family competition (with fewer injuries!)_  
 _•Take an African dance class. ~~Your father's excited about this one.~~ The pen stutters, and new writing floods the page._  
 _-Intense hockey match-- WATCHING_  
 _-Modern games. Like Charades._  
 _-_

_...Actually, since we'll be doing this together, why not wait to write it until we're all in the same place. Ah, the city matters as well. You should pick it. We can go during winter._

_Miss you,  
Mom, Dad_

He loves it when they write on the same paper because it makes a beautiful portrait. This one is gradient styled, but previous rainbows and spirals earned frames as well.

Throughout dinner, he can't concentrate. The table achieves a volume only possible with what's-his-name, and is lucky to hit whisper-status. He pictures a low-price diner, eating opposite his parents who won't resemble themselves, dressed down so for the occasion. Or in a kitchen suiting up to increase the family recipes. Then after, looking more edible than ninety-percent of their dishes,

Dojima helps him upstairs after three incoherent replies.

*

Souji lives for winter. Snow, inhaling the air's chill, going to extremes for warmth, even the constellation shifts build his excitement. Spending one now with his parents would set a new standard. He fantasizes at school, somehow ends up in the nurses office and bags an escort home. Saturday night, he decides to treat himself with an early vacation.

He heads to Okina the next morning.

*

He visits the bookstore, stays five hours. He coaxes books from their cubbies, structures them around himself and repeats until the only light rains from what he brought. He reads most. Not completely, just a page, but they blend, as if one big play. He picks titles his mother glorifies first-- wanders the ages until he runs into his father's subjects. He lingers to the point where his eyes slide shut, and the words are more lullaby than language. His father's voice, near his ear, asking if he's ready for the best part, unweaves the dreams beginning to thread. Souji gets to pick a book himself, and as his dad begins to read, every chance of sleep vanishes.

The forest surrounds him, barring sunlight. He's alone. As he crawls through the darkness, a thousand eyes claw his form. Fear slithers up his legs, pushing him faster along the mangled path. It's when he stops that they pounce-- all those eyes, one by one until even the halting fear is smothered into oblivion. They worm their way in through his mouth, ears, nose, and seep through his skin. Only his soul goes untouched. When they mold into his copy, his brother, it's pained and heaving with flaws. But Souji can't leave this mirror, and it follows him. Everywhere.

His father pauses, and for a moment, he realizes the pages and hardcover between his hands. Souji reads on, a little shyly, because the previous narrator claimed ignorance of a certain word. "It began to acquire memories, and feelings of its own, while taking the life of its original self. Souji--" Really, Juro, but his father always changes the name. "--ends up in compromising situations when his friends can't tell them apart. He appears to have memory loss, and yanks people's chains unintentionally. He approaches this twin, wants to--"

Souji glares at the employee interrupting his session just to check his well-being. The gaps aren't closed correctly, and the air suddenly ruffles uncomfortably. He opts to finish at home. The stack overrunning the counter inches his personal library closer to becoming a mini-version of his dad's.

He restrains himself, keeps his hands around the bags and his tongue against his teeth, not the glass window of his destination. It's a clothing store, catering to both men and women so he doesn't feel weird upon entry. He tells himself that he only wants to look, convincingly keeps the hangers touching the racks. But then it spots him, and he can't resist plucking the tulled, single-sleeved top from its unappreciative neighborhood. Along with shorts calling the same name. Even then, he only picks them up. They might be his size, but he isn't sure. His arms just aren't big enough; it's impossible to narrow them down, since he weeded the definite no's ahead of time. Solution: try them on. Which is okay, since none of them are skirts, dresses, or excessively women-cut. And it's not as if he'll even leave the dressing room.

The first, he feels right in. Well, better. It reveals leg, midriff, and shoulder. His mother wears similar things. To the beach. He wore one with a lower neck to parents' day, when neither of his could make it, and he felt weird not attending with everybody else. He found it, the only thing in their wardrobe he wouldn't trip over. If he were to walk outside now, he might get picked up, but his mother couldn't rush over.

The second is a color his mother never rocks-- her beloved orange, that "clashes" with her hair. The one garment she keeps of it is one he picked out. She'd nearly ripped it and his fingers off after catching him with it, continued to berate him until he squeezed in that it was for her. To date, it's the only piece she's donned three times.

The rest connect to a ball of emotions. Half he doesn't get on right the first time, feels her hands correcting him over and over. All rejects, because she won't always be there to help him, doesn't trust he'll remember. But he will. 

Staring deep into his reflection, Souji combs his hair back into place and rewinds, a rampant blush conquering his face. The current outfit is more than enough, being not enough, and he thinks the next time he needs confidence he shall siphon some from Mom.

The dress controls him, he'll go to his grave saying it, and it wins a backstage pass like all the others. It owns his form, all glitter and diagonal strips. It's too similar to the one she stayed in for-- ...He could wear jeans under it and make it a shirt; it wouldn't be his style, but he could make it a one-day thing. Or a no-day thing, and just wear it --no, not leaving the dressing room-- at home, when nobody's there or awake. But it's too tight around his mind, and he can't slip it off so he's _forced_ to wear it out. But one frantic glance at the mirror disciplines him, so he buys heels and a choker and something he can't really identify, but the sales-lady is kind, understanding and swears it enhances everything about him. He'll win last month's earnings back in a blink, and the Team doesn't need anything now anyway; Rise has over a week, she'll be fine.

The Setas walk the streets together, laugh, and almost miss the last train home.

He falls in first, playfully locks them out.

He's left to meet Dojima's eyes alone.

It's not the easiest conversation, and at the end of the night, he curls up in the cold futon, holds himself. Eventually, his mom takes over, still dressed from earlier. His dad narrates a near future where his thoughts quell, and the dreams are sweeter than the dessert they all shared earlier.

*

The sheet shrinks away from him. He catches the pen-- the _new_ pen--before it ninja-rolls from his desk. He hates this one. It has no weight, no substance, and always tries disappearing to some corner he can't see. The ink holds little color, appears dull and dusty. He can't use it.

*

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

 _Sounds fun, I'll look forward to it. ~~Studying for exams~~_ He won't disgrace the page, even if the lie might be true by the time they receive it.

*

__  
~~Dear Mom & Dad,~~  


_~~I miss you too. Please, call.~~ _

_~~Love,  
Souji.~~ _

*

He takes a deep breath, paws around his head for the right thoughts and comes up blank. Frowning at the page, he knows enough happened between now and his last letter to fill up three pages. He debates waiting a little longer, but their letter could be in the works soon. His nausea flares again, sprouting from ungrateful thoughts. He rests his head, waits for it to pass, but manages to feel worse. His parents don't have to write, never call, haven't checked on him directly in-- He groans and shifts. Can't tell if it helped.

The streetlights are on by the time black contrasts white.

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_I got to meet Risette! She's great in person!_

_We had a school trip. Culinary classes should be mandatory._ He grimaces, moving along.

_The stars out here are gorgeous. Tonight it's cloudy, so I'll tell you another time._

_Um...I didn't make the best financial decision. But you've done that too, right? In the early days... Oh, and Mom - you're really brave._ He feels cheap and the queasiness swings back around.

_Exams will be here... You know I won't have a problem. But I've been doing better at other things, like you asked. You may not believe me, but it's true._

_Can I see you during summer? I do love winter, but... it's so far away._ He also gleaned they meant next winter. Not Inaba's winter. _Maybe I can have both? ...Kidding._ They won't so much as snicker, and he only does so bitterly. _Anyway, summer's cutting it too close, isn't it? How's your workload?_ He catches himself before suggesting a web conference. Awkward and pathetic? He could do without one.

_Let's make the distance between us shorter. Poetry, that's the key!_

_Miss you,  
Souji_

_P.S. - Inaba has so many strays! I hope I can be their friend._

He edits. Sunshine, flowers, and exclamation points clutter the page. He dumps this one too, and is just dotting a new one when his uncle intrudes. Souji agrees to accompany him and Nanako to Junes tomorrow. The state of his desk conjures another question-- why his parents write letters instead of just e-mailing, calling, whatever. Souji explains the nostalgia, which he understands. Unfortunately, Dojima also gets it in his head to try writing his sister a letter. Imagines it _fun_. Souji encourages him.

That night, when Dojima falls asleep, half-written letter defenseless upon his desk, Souji visits. He'll admit to taking it if asked, agree he sent it-- to a place of no return, but won't say where. He knows it's wrong, but in a way, very right. He knows Dojima will wake up, search for fifteen minutes of time, get ready for work, and come home. By then, he'll have forgotten all about it.

It's infuriating. But, Souji feels eased too, and feels it stronger than rage, because he's relieved not only for himself, but also for Dojima-san.

*

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_I got to meet Risette! She's great in person!_

_We had a school trip. Culinary classes should be mandatory. Or back up dinner._

_The stars out here are gorgeous, but I won't tell you how much so just yet ♪_

_I've had my first financial disaster! I believe congrats are in order. Next one will get me stranded somewhere! Oh, and Mom - you're really brave. I just thought you should know._

_Exaaaams! I'm going to ace them again, so can you get my gift ready, now? What did you see in that shop anyway?_

_My other skills have improved too; you'll be impressed._

_I'm already excited about our get-together. Clear out 8 days, just over a week! We are going to take Italy(?) by storm! Wait, don't hold me to that. Thanks for letting me pick. Do you know how much that means to me, especially during winter? I suppose you get it somewhat..._

_Let's shorten the distance between us. Poetry, that's the key!_

_Miss you,  
Souji_

_P.S. - Inaba has so many strays! I hope I can be their friend._


	4. Her Advice

In his closet sits a small, locked chest. It guards nearly every key Souji's ever twisted or swiped-- a replica if the original had to be returned. The only two not present are the ones he wears around his neck-- matching, green and red.

He watches them dance in the bath water, trying to remember their unique purpose. But he doesn't, like all the years before. He knows they're important, and he doesn't want to lose them in case one day he figures it out and needs them. They're part of him. Each year, he moves them, but tries to keep them hidden. This year's different; he hates the chain tucking them beneath his collar. And his friends grow stronger revealing their selves. Maybe...

 

He finds a jeweler, emerges with an earring, and nudges Rise for the piercing.

*

The rest of the mail falls, and some wrinkle beneath his legs, but his shoes could never unlace fast enough, tying him to the foyer corner.

_Dear Souji,_

_I'm lead organizer again. No surprise there, but if this keeps up (and I'll make sure it does), I see a reward in the near future! I trust you can say the same._ Actually, the investigation hit a snag. Not that she knew of his involvement. Or the murders. Did she? _And when you aren't in charge, make sure you do your part. I hate bitter co-workers, always trying to sabotage your plans. Slackers aren't much better, but you can consistently expect it and suitably assign them suitable tasks. Brown nosers on the other hand, will flip everything inside out, no matter the precautions. I don't want you to get ahead that way. I know you're better than that._ The warmth filling him is the kind from hot chocolate-- it lights the soul. He rests his weight on the wall, silently hoping for that same sensation.

 _Have you made top game? Your other involvements must detract. It's a common problem. What helps is to get inside the rest of the team's head. Some can be psyched out. Simply practice in "private," when you know he's around, and then show off. It will blow his mind! He'll try to catch up, but lose faith and settle on a personal best. Do this in advance, because too close to a meet could drag the whole team down._ He can't help it. A snicker escapes. Get her started, and even team sports are competition.

 _If that would motivate others, go for a different approach. Uniform alteration is hardly noticeable until the action starts. Your top will rise just enough to be a distraction. The shorts are a bit trickier, but just hem up a little each practice, and don't stand too close to anyone. The point isn't to seduce the opposing team, or your coach, although both could happen, but nabbing a reaction. Trash-talk requires concentration. If you're prepared for the knocks, it creates a new opportunity. I'm sure the fans will notice too-- Stealing your opponent's flattery causes mind-blocking rage. Stay cool. Oh, but if someone does come on to you, don't touch anything inappropriate. It gives the wrong idea. If you're comfortable with being touched, that's fine. Virgins are more popular. Act a little. And stay in control: be mindful of who, where, and how often. If you aren't okay with it, don't lead anyone on. Drop a little gift instead-- small, so they don't exploit you, but not tiny where it becomes a mockery._ He peers at the words, as if a silent message napped within. It dawns that she's sharing the bravery he admires. He saves it, locks it in a tower he'll take small steps to reach.

 _Don't worry if you aren't yet Japan's greatest prodigy composer. If it hurts our ears, all the better to reach our souls. Much like painting, right? It speaks differently to everyone. A few of the popular bands here sound as if they owe their success to the struggling alley cat symphonies. Don't worry, I pay the rightful owners._ His lips twitch skyward. _Or, give up if it's not going anywhere. Your time's limited. Don't waste it._ They straighten into a line. He pauses her, sucks the entire letter in. It's longer than any Inaba companion, something to be happy about.

 _How is the thing you were working on? That silly collage. It should be finished by now. Is it polished? I'd like to see it. I'm sure we can enter it somewhere._ He reads past quickly.

 _I know about the parties. They increase during summer, and I don't want you in trouble. Keep these vital tips in mind._ Taking a deep breath, part of her notes enter the test side of his brain.

 _No more than 3 cups of any beverage. Try not to go over 2 unless watched in a group. Never use the restroom-- cake to walk in on something, or become cornered yourself. If you're going to lose it, turn to nature. The edge bushes are good for that, no one makes it that far. Join temporary groups and trade off quickly so you aren't targeted. If you sense the inevitability, work your way towards a middle victim position._ He squirms, remembering that he's first or last on every list. _Always make a fool of yourself on purpose, and after most people have arrived. They'll move on to someone else and forget the specifics by the night's end. Take pictures! These are priceless. Do it inconspicuously, or else "camera-boy" will be on the wrong side of the lens._ Luckily, he witnessed that solely from the sidelines a few times.

 _If you get into a tight spot, BREAK something. Go for 1, but anything over 4 buys a terrible reputation. Don't have sex. It will start bad, get worse, and end with you in the hospital (this can occur up to a month after the bash-- Don't be fooled!). All kisses should be sloppy. You can blame it on the alcohol, but your partner will lack coordination, so you may be off in the right direction. Well, as "right" as the situation allows._ Souji shrinks, but everything's too shallow, and makes disappearing impossible. _That should help. Draw from this, be prepared for any situation. Remember: If you're having fun, someone's having more._

 _Fun is gained better elsewhere. Extreme Expression isn't until fall, but do you have any ideas? The very submissions pump my blood faster. I'll only look at the top 25, and I want to see yours. Last year's entry dazzled me. I like that speechless feeling from you._ He perks up, but his confusion rouses as well. How did she see it...?

 _Take care of yourself. It's easy to slip up during summer. Keep your physical health up first, or else your mind will crumble. Sun block, shade, and water-- never forget those 3 things. For everything else, cut back, but don't peel them out of your routine fully. It invites laziness. Carelessly adding things baits stress. I'll be calling to examine your progress. If I hear good things..._ He holds his breath. _Well, you can't change it now, so I guess we'll see._

_Love,  
Mom_

He stays scrunched in his mini box, listens to the chorus of mewls outside. Logic tells him to do the thing he arrived for. But the reason eludes him. And he has time. He can read the letter again... He can also go for a walk. He attempts the former, peering through the sunlit page's opposite side. Beginning at the end is easiest. When the rays slink off to another window, he unsticks himself from the floor, then the catalogs from himself.

The letter thrashes about inside its envelope, and he thinks the lid may even be kicked from the box. The best way to calm the battling pair is with entertainment. He gives life to a new piece of paper, embellishes it with colors and shapes unique to his mother. He exaggerates a little. Anyone else won't get it, unless he places her name above. His audience whoops and hollars, but something's missing. He fills the back with that vacancy. 

_Dear Mom, (this is just for you, not for Dad, ok? He has something separate on the way)_

_Guess what? I drew a picture of you **Mom** ~~my~~ **!** _

_~  
Souji_

It's too early to reply. He crumples the paper. She wouldn't like it anyway.

At least her letter settled, so he can get to sleep without interruptions.

*

A bug creeps through Souji over the next few days, and he just can't shake it. He races Nanako on a day they both oversleep. She wins, just barely. As a consolation prize, he escapes Ms. Kashiwagi's punctuality lecture. They make it far past his goal in Void Quest with the promise of a special treat to whoever KO's the most Shadows. He owes Chie steak, so he picks up a shift at Junes and employs his most charming smile to outsell Yosuke.

Kanji looks when he thinks Senpai is preoccupied. Souji knows, and catches his stare, turning it into a contest if only to ease the awkwardness. Souji loses, two-to-three and throws in the towel. He mistakenly volunteers to return Yukiko's notes. It's the reason his ideas run high knee'd when he can't recall the precise steps in the ceremony. She argues such unorthodox methods are disqualifications, but the bottom line is that she lost and can't admit it.

Mitsuo's dungeon infected him with game fever. He coaxes his sleuth boys to relax and play a few rounds.

"Ted! You can't do that!"

"But I just did!"

"Let me try; two can play that game." Souji sits in Yosuke's place and ignores all warnings. Teddie cheats. Souji cheats back, but can't replicate the utter...skill the blond displays at being obliviously wrong. He whips out the cheapest of cheap tactics, and still manages to be one-upped by _pure luck_. He attempts a last ditch effort to flip the controller from the newb's hands. Alas! Teddie's spontaneous foot scratch smites his plan.

They continue. Souji finally gives up when Dojima appears to throw the party out. But Souji passes the baton with a smirk instead.

The next afternoon, he challenges Kou, one-on-one. It's a spectator event, but partway through the match, the crowd fades, leaving him alone with the ball against his fiery competitor. He believes the match goes on longer than it should, for it's only brought to a halt thanks to outside interference. Everyone forgot to keep score, so they call Daisuke's treat.

His reply is timed.

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_I aced the exams! Highest score in my class ♪ What do I get?_ He needs them to pick, because his requests would emerge too fanciful. Too tempting.

 _I got my ear pierced, you should see it! Rise's amazing at these things. Oh, not that I have more than one, and I don't have any tattoos. I won't be getting more, according to Dojima-san. Hahaha... ;;; She's not a bad influence, I promise. It was my idea._ Going into that will just make things worse. _She's really cultured! A beast at trivia. And she's not afraid to get what she wants, so I think you'd like her, Mom._

 _Speaking of, I really appreciate the advice. I haven't had a chance to use all of it_ or any of it _yet, but better to save some tricks, right?_ He zeros in on her letter, snatching what he needs. _I did finish an original composition last year, in time for one of the concert judgings. It won sixth at the panel, and fourth in people's choice. I've improved since then, because that was just the start. I thought you heard it? I'll do better this time, just like you asked. I'm glad you found some cats too! Although, Dad must not be._

 _I trashed the mosaic. I never finished it before and decided to just give up, devote my time to something else._ Partially a lie, but he prefers that to the disapproving scowl he sees her wearing while reading the truth. A silly piece for a silly boy. _Like this year's Extreme Expression. I won't disappoint, I_ Promise? No. _have an idea already. I'm sure you'll be just as in love with it as last years, and then some!_ He does have an idea. He doesn't know what it is. But he has it, revolving somewhere. And now he's obligated to enter. _But that's not until fall. I'll keep summer steady, because you're right._

 _Did you know Dojima-san is really talented at video games? Was he a nerd-kid? Because he beat my friend (a cheater), fair and square._ Then again, he lost to Yosuke. _Or, it could just be that he's LAW, right? No outlaw is safe! He's really funny. I don't think he tries. He's opening up more, so it's much less awkward._ It's the bonus incentive to retrieving victims faster each time. Nanako's smile seals the deal.

He eyes the timer, bats his pen against the page until a minute passes with nothing new. _I'm enjoying myself. I hope you are too._

_Love,  
Souji_

He stops the clock, reviews the letter. For the first time, he believes hers is longer...


	5. Dear Souji

Souji sleeps peacefully, no nightmares, and a fan to monitor his temperature. He awakens early, no light except from the device seducing his ear. He checks it because someone might need him, but only a date flashes on screen. _April 2012_.

He sits at his desk and dismisses the alarm. His hand wields the pen carefully, lest it leaves a scar.

_Dear Souji,_

_Are you settled yet? How do you like it? I hope it's everything you imagined. If it isn't, make the most of it. Add your own appeal. You know what to do. Enjoy your final year._

_Love,  
Mom_

It's perfect. He leaves the envelope naked and clumsily fits it through his faithful red slot.

He stumbles back to bed.

*

Souji receives a gift from one of the daycare mothers. It's nice, but he doubts it will fit in with his other things. Everywhere he tries, his belongings already fill, or the open spaces have reservations. He pauses on the last desk drawer, remembering that here it opens without jamming. It should be empty. But it's such a dark and closed space, and he really never checks it. Just considering it makes him feel like a bridge troll. He abandons the dark oak and makes room on a different shelf.

*

He's glad for summer and freedom from school. It destroys his excuse to stop by the playground and pick up Nanako. It's better when he can't stare at all the slides and sandboxes and swings. It sets his vision straight. Because a playground definitely doesn't get brighter by the day, especially not on cloudy days. Pieces of the sun can't fall and have that affect. Something so gold _burns_ , and he's had enough of that.

*

He rouses at two-seventeen, a merry-go-round drifting to the back of his thoughts. He likes this melody. It carols of grass, cherry blossoms, blue skies, and warmth between two people. Sweeter than any dream, silencing his phone is harder than climbing out of bed. _May 2012_.

_Dear Souji,_

_Good choice. I considered that school when I was younger. Tell me about the path I chose not to take._

_This is an important year. You only have to live it once, but don't let it slip by. I know you won't get reckless. When it gets overwhelming, take a deep breath and count to three. One for yourself; two for your mother; three for me. The choice is there, even if it's hard to acknowledge. I stumbled across a gorgeous painting._ He can't think of any that his father might find new just yet. _See if you can find it. It's a recent dream from a French artist spotlighting birds without wings. It reminded me of a very unpleasant decision I'd been cornered into making. When you run into your first, tell me._

_On a lighter note, a new theater will be having its grand opening soon. We received VIP tickets, but may not be able to attend. Do you feel up to it?_

_Love,  
Dad_

He sends this one through his special red slot too.

Overnight, his bright skies lose their dye, and revert to gray. He feels hot, but not the least bit warm.

*

Nanako peeks inside his room. He has thirty-six cranes ready to fly. She wants to try. He teaches her, so they have thirty-nine. She arranges them in a line, and he does the same. They fold and switch, until it spells a three letter word and the name of a man they both miss. They chatter on, long enough for their speech to turn to yawns and become nonsense in their sleep.

*

At lunch, he hears what Chie's saying, but can't hold onto it. It's like he only has one memory file, and saving a new phrase erases the old one. His mind is blank, or else screaming at deaf ears. The whole day stutters on that way until he's well within the maw of night. The tone shatters whatever muffling screen existed as it climbs into one ear, and bounds through the other, resounding the loudest clash in his brain.

Pen poised, he conjures a second reality. Next year, he might stay with them. This must be special; it's their first letter together. Something to transcend distance, be it a hallway, or skyway.

_Dear Souji,_

_Our names are not Flounder and Ariel,_  
 _though we aim to be part of your world._  
 _This life is only temporary,_  
 _One day, it will be our bones you bury._

_Your destiny has only one heir._  
 _Shadows leap and eat to give you a scare._  
 _Don't sway after their sly dancing lies._  
 _Out for a birthright, they eye your king's prize._

_We're seized for being pleased in a web spun_  
 _of our own cocky complacency._  
 _We fled bizarre, choked on safety's cigar._  
 _You're our north star, helping us raise the bar._

_You've heard these words fall from another tongue._  
 _Day and night they beat between our lungs._  
 _Forgive us if you find your mouth askew,_  
 _but all we have to say is thank you._

_Love you,  
Mom, Dad_

He'll reply with an identical version-- simple, and appropriate on any occasion.

He sends the chime to bed ahead of himself. _June 2012_. The sentiments hoist themselves into the fiery slot.

When he wakes, it seems the desk light shone all night, although he could swear he flicked it dark.

*

The Dojima house is lovely. Nanako's welcome never stops easing his woes. He's happier returning to it than any of the dorms in which he dwelled the last three years. But even now, "home" is not a name befitting Inaba. If his thumb hovers over the phone, a number could be dialed for comfort-- too quickly. But occasionally, Dojima works while Nanako's club assembles, and the silence whines at him, wants to play. He accepts it without hesitation. Moments like that bring him back to the only place he calls home.

*

The fifth letter finds its way to his hands only a few days before school resumes. He keeps his promise and only waits until he's shut away in his room to slowly open his gift.

_Dear Souji,_

_They handed us new fieldwork. The island to which we were assigned only scheduled ferries. Before we left, the lake calmed down, but my luck ran out on the ride home. I enjoyed the trip otherwise._

_Most of the land is owned by a company focused on preservation and research. They treated us to a very authentic experience. We visited an old hospital among other places. It was haunted, naturally. According to widespread tale, the facility's owner had a sick daughter. Her condition grew worse with age, and on her eleventh birthday, traditional methods no longer eased her pain. He used parts of her mother, and it seemed to satiate her illness. Eventually, nothing of the mother remained, and he advanced on the other patients. Rumors spread, and the hospital became less and less popular. When no one survived, the doctor used himself to cure his daughter. Her newly cleared mind allowed her to realize what transpired. The gravity of so many lives sacrificed, coupled with being alone, crushed her._

_The souls are all thought to be confined within the hospital's walls, bound by the injustice of their deaths. Since the daughter never fully experienced life, her father failed to rest. Ashamed that her death caused him such grief, she also could not leave in peace. At least, that's how the legend is told. Your mother claims to have felt the claws of an elderly spirit. We found marks at first. Now, they're gone. I'm also quite sure I heard their pleas. It's not an easy experience to set aside. I'm still having nightmares. My thoughts wander more frequently, lately. The meditation exercises aren't helping. I'll give it a few more days and try something else._

_Did summer serve you well? I hope you took advantage of the season. Apart from time off, many adventures fair better in hot weather. Don't miss out on them because you have a few doubts. Your anxiety should melt away quickly._

_I apologize for my poor attendance. However, I have been keeping up with your progress. You excelled faster than I expected. I'm proud._

_Please, continue._

_Love,  
Dad_

Souji exhales after reading. He places the letter on his desk, almost walks away, but decides to stuff his box with one more letter. He heads to bed early, postpones any reaction at all to the words spinning in his head. He rushes himself to sleep, afraid of his thoughts wandering out their corral and into polluted waters as they sometimes do.

In the morning, he uncovers the letter again and rotates its fragile weight. Sense lands a hard kick, and he stops. That isn't what he truly feels caution towards, but it's the only physical outlet for his swelling anxiety. He tunes into every other sound-- the gushing faucet, the squabbling birds, his heart drumming a masterpiece --until his father's voice plays like an audio tape. The noises outside slam silent, and even his inner voice won't rise. On his third review, Souji listens a little closer to himself and crawls out of hiding when the choir belts out a hymn of excitement, and, unless he's wrong, a whistling of hope. It doesn't wane, only wakes, so he reads ninety-six more times.

*

He sneaks out one night, summoned by a force he can't name, maybe simple desire. His hands caress the metal of the big slide first, in hopes that will satisfy his irrational urge. Five minutes later, his counts down the slide are not subtracting. Four, five, six, he thinks seven's best because his brain departs, and the sensation flutters through with no inhibitions. He winds about the jungle gym until hitting his head, then does it all over again. He nearly calls Yosuke, for some of the funstructions require a partner, but figures Teddie will wake up too. He builds fish in the sand, crafts a whole ocean, really. His feet giddy-up the moment his eyes reunite with the swing set.

Sometimes, his peers' parents pushed them higher, or gave the initial spark. Souji had a pair of hands behind him once too, tiny ones, not long before his face met earth. He stops, adding to the grooves already dug beneath the seat. Dojima wakes up too early to stay.

*

He zips around to finish packing, making room to answer his dad's letter before bed.

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_I am enjoying my summer. It's very different from last year. This time, I'm spending all of it with my friends._

_We missed the beach, but it wasn't a big loss. You could say the festival took its place (even if we usually get both). It wasn't very elaborate...more like an afterthought. Guess it's hard to get excited in all this heat. Unless, I'm just used to something different...?_

_But I had fun! It was nice, not having to worry about anything and acting crazy the whole time. We got a little carried away, almost running over this kid. He wanted to win a prize for his older sister, who hadn't smiled since earlier that day. We pitched in to help, and painfully failed. In the end, his sister came back with a gift for him instead! She said he hadn't smiled since the other day and got it to cheer him up. Funny, right?_

_It's good to have someone that tries to make you smile._ He's fortunate to have quite a few.

 _Come to think of it, the last time I had so much fun at a festival was... When I went with you. I still couldn't reach the masks then, but you helped me._ He lets the feeling warm his cheeks and tries not to think of the sad ones he attended inbetween then and now.

_I have a friend who's really into music broke his player. He was antsy all day since nothing inspired him-- he wanted to move and groove. So I danced to the beat of Inaba ★! He changed his mind soon after and pulled me off to the side... I wonder why._

He crosses his fingers, in hopes these stories are okay to tell. Will they laugh?

_Summer brought these bugs that squeak all night. I've never heard them anywhere else. For two nights they kept me up, before I got used to it. Not sure if I'll be able to sleep as easily when fall gets here, hah. Oh, but I recorded them. They'll be in my report, so you'll hear too. Beat that, Dad!_

_School's back in session. We have a trip tomorrow,_ He should be alright. _3 days in the city._

 _Are you alright now, Dad? That sounds scary. ...Although, I would have been excited to go too._ It stirs the imagination inside him. Although, the Midnight Channel's tale kills his curiosity towards anything else Inaba's ghosthood might spawn. _How's Mom? Did the marks stay very long? Is she okay?_

He twirls the pen, debating on spilling a particularly recent detail in his life. At night, he rewinds it over and over before going to bed, and bounces between feeling better or worse. But, aren't some things better kept locked alone, inside?

Even if he shares it here, it remains a secret to the world. Three people isn't worrisome.

 _Last week, I snuck into the playground. Not for Nanako, just myself. I didn't ruin anything_ at the playground, he adds mentally. _and no one saw. I just ran around a bit, hopped on the swings, etc., It won't be a regular occurrence, I promise._ His conscious already floats higher, ready to break surface. Why not confess some more?

_I didn't really like your last letter, Mom. Have you bothered to listen to what I've been saying? Honestly, I'm not serious about basketball, and I'm sure your "help" would just make things worse. Half the team might quit if I did anything on that list._

_I haven't been to a single wild party in Inaba._ Do they exist? The possibilities are too embarrassing or wrong to let loose.

 _It may not have been on your calendar, but I did compete at the concert. I even placed. I did NOT, however, place in Extreme Expression. I entered. It didn't end favorably. Did you see the ashes of my submission? I should have used them for a stunning piece. Here's a tip: put some THOUGHT in the next letter. I haven't seen you in how long exactly? Answer that, if you can. If not, at least think of what I might want to hear._ His slows, most of the fuel already spent. _It doesn't have to be a lie. Actually, I'd prefer the truth. Just, relevant truth, please._ He settles back, breathes in gallons, all to recharge with a different energy.

 _Keep watching, Dad! ♫ Thanks, I'm so happy you said that!_ He doubts that even touches how he really feels, but he can't figure out how else to express it.

_Miss you,  
Souji_

He finishes with not one mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changes from original: The first half of the letter Souji wrote in reply to his parents has been altered.


	6. Return Address

The sixth letter churns Souji's stomach by it's mere _existence_. Souji pedals it over his desk's surface ten, eleven, finally forty-eight times, stalling to feel something else. Happiness, excitement, curiosity, indignation, love, anything-- _nothing_ \-- free of his multiplying fears. He re-checks his calendar, but the date's identical across nine sources. He doesn't want to open this letter, but has only twenty minutes left to do just that. Years of experience aid in predicting exactly the kind of message this letter bares-- the type of news no one welcomes. Because there could be no answer to the response he sent hardly a week ago.

The open letter displays his first expectation: both of their penmanship, with his father's up first.

_Dear Souji,_

_The boss is in good spirits, sadly. I much prefer him barking in our faces._ Souji opens the eye he didn't realize had closed. Maybe they saved it for the end? _This time, he has everyone wearing costumes to work. He's convinced it's a great environment. We're not even allowed to pick the ensembles. Your mother wishes we could be ronin. My personal desire would be robots. Alas, the room opposite us has been elected ninjas. Do you know what that makes us?_ Pirates, Souji can guess.

He finches again with the pen's trade. _I'm fine, Souji. You asked about the marking's most peculiar aspect. They stayed for 8 days...and 18 nights. Funny, right? They never appeared elsewhere, always on my shoulder blades. We visited a variety of experts, and amateurs, on the subject. One of the responses I found incredibly interesting: The marks always existed, created by my own body. Their increased visibility had simply been triggered by paranormal activity. I'm on a mission to find similar things on my arms or elsewhere._ As he uncurls, so does his suspicion, stretching, hunting for the sign.

 _I apologize for that letter._ What? _It fell below my standards as well. I'll try harder next time. I can't let your father beat me._ A million dollar bill hovering over quicksand, with a vine just for him-- Do mice feel the same? When their worth is put on the line for a _slice_ of cheese. That itty bit can be mouth-wateringly delicious to those whose own meat has been eaten by time. The logical explanation is that Souji broke the rules, with his ungracious word spew. Perhaps it's sensible for her to do the same? And who is he to complain about free cheese? She sees this as competition. That alone is enough to urge his step ahead. _Give me a hint. I'm not psychic. For now, I'll try admitting a less than noble pastime of mine._ He leans forward, readies the fork and knife.

_About 80% of our work is solitary. Even so, the office environment is very social, and not always in a good way. I love watching my co-workers verbally devour each other! It isn't just me; sometimes, passers bet on just who will win. The blows get nasty, and it doesn't stop there. Afterwards, the undercover brawl commences. They aren't obvious unless you know who's involved, but little details surface. The rat from block-17 "accidentally" let slip how Too-Sick-To-Work-san had a happy glow all night while fine dining. The rest spells itself._

_I enjoy romantic encounters as well-- from courting to secret rendezvous. Playing Cupid every now and then further propels me! I've lent a hand in some of the best matches! Do you need any help, Souji?_ He lets the response soak in completely, brain walking alone.

His father assumes narration. _Two out of Three confessions? That leaves me. Well, I don't have one._

_I have quite a few. For now, I'll disclose a long time favorite. Genius truly awoke the day they invented chess. Perhaps, I do own a competitive bone. Piece in hand, the world dims, the only light radiating from a checkered field. That's the mode into which I fall. The worst part is how it captivates me while on the clock. I've tried to uninstall the program and experienced a minor breakdown. Thankfully, this is a relatively contained habit._

_I could say that I'm looking forward to your project, but I need to focus on my own **disadvantaged** development. I lack the full time to complete mine, because we've been relocated. I'll have to start over with the new city. Won't you be considerate of this, Souji?_

His mother finishes. _Souji, I don't know the exact number of days that have passed since our last meeting. Instead, I'm counting down the days until we met again._ He forgives her, if a grudge had ever materialized. _Please, take care until then._

_Love,  
Mom, Dad_

_P.S. - Our new address is enclosed. Send your letters that way!_

New residence indeed. Souji nearly drops the letter and scrambles to hold it straight. He succeeds partially, but his hands' shivering renders full victory impossible. And he's okay with that. Because their new address is in Japan! He's never visited this specific city, but that will change. The train schedule finished for tonight, but tomorrow...

His adventure begins with ticket hunting. The route is simple. As soon as his eyes run over the date, a little nick damages his newfound enthusiasm. School. He skipped one session with Ai, last week. One session, not a whole day. Waiting until the weekend is safer. Better. Maybe he can stay for a day. Or two, or three to fourteen. He restrains himself and distracts himself by sheltering the letter. Strange. Everything's in the correct order, but the envelopes are single stacked. He hates that.

*

A good rest cleans the cobwebs from his head, creates space for reason. He needs permission from both Dojima and his parents. Dojima should be easy, but the other team... He'll solve the issue in class.

His pencil zips across the page like any day, but it notes excuses, scenarios, and logical explanations with no relation to biology. If Dojima asks, they'll have to say yes...or leak lies. He'll settle for a short dinner, if they refuse the entire day. If not this weekend, the following. Except, this one should be free, because their weekends have always been free. Proof solidifies his claim, in the event they deny being in Japan. All he has to do is show the letter and--

He decides calling his parents first is the best option.

After the last class, he hides under the staircase and lets the world move around him. His dad stays late on Tuesday, so he calls the work number. The directory commands him to choose a number. He listens to every option, no longer responding with muscle reflex. At the end of the maze, a friendly voice tells him the waiting list is full and to try again tomorrow, or make an appointment. The message loops until an angry roar jolts him.

Kanji's mid-way into launching his verbal assault at the fearful stragglers near the lockers when Souji invites him for a snack.

He listens to the first year's troubles, of the nasty classmates testing his patience. It rings familiar to Souji, whose water slips down his throat in globs upon realizing. He buries the memories like he buried himself at the time.

*

He interviews both the young and old about Inaba's history, and realizes just how closely related it is to the history of its residents'. Inaba exists because people created it, one land mark event at a time. What nameless land existed in its place is miles from the refined jewel shinning today. The people still maturing with each sunset dot the city in a myriad of flavors. Yet, they are carved from the same tree. Souji wonders if travelers like himself live by a different set of rules.

*

Naoto's small frame appears hazy on the Midnight Channel. Souji's weekend won't be free. This allots more time to be granted permission. He explores the idea of asking Dojima one last time...

...and digs a nice grave for it.

*

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

 _Wow! I didn't expect an answer like that. It means a lot. Really. Thanks!_ Shades of embarrassment dust his cheeks as he relives just how spoiled their letter made him feel.

 _I know you listen, but sometimes I don't believe it. Sorry. ...But I didn't get any of those vibes this time! Loved everything I read._ If he anticipated a reply while putting his thoughts out there, it wouldn't have been one nearly as light or accepting as the reality. He must've been lucky.

 _Mom - What you just did was fine! I'd most like to hear about you._ Blunt, but she did open the floor, _Have you ever bullied someone? What happens to the matches that go bad? Did you get into arguments too?_ He can't imagine a "no," for that last one. _Can I get a raincheck on the advice? I don't think I need it just yet._ It sounds like an interrogation. Maybe he's picking up just as many skills as he offers to teach. _Is there anything you want to know? ♥ Ask!_ He simply wants her to come out and say it.

_Dad - I see where you're headed. If you care that much about losing fair and square, you can use both locales. That makes it even, right?_

_Let's play chess next time! I'll practice, so don't go easy on me._

Souji quickly realizes the letter's short return has left him dry for tales of his own.

_You're so smart, Mom! I'll start counting down the days too. I'm sorry I accused you like that. This is the longest I ever want us to be apart. I'm keeping track as a reminder._

_Miss you,  
Souji_

He drops the pen before he can ask about stupid things like lunch and weekends. He's already required to jog if he wants to make homeroom. He decides running wouldn't be bad, so he addresses the letter and leaves it in the outside mailbox on his speedy way.

It's the first time in ages that Souji recalls sending a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changes from original: The scene where Souji runs into Kanji has been shortened.


	7. Black Rose

Naoto reunites with safety in under seven days. Like a job well done's reward, he receives a letter the next afternoon. This one he slits while heading up the stairs. The writing that greets him dances across the page-- same as every other time, but a ghostly image of black roses now tumble across the page.

_Dear Souji,_

_This new girl arrived a few days ago. I think she's the silent killing type. Our welcoming tradition is to leave gifts on the newbie's desk prior to arrival. Well, I gave carnations. She returned them to me, then urged me to pick something better suited to the occasion! When I calmly asked what she might prefer instead, she told me to figure it out myself. I let it slide and purchased new flowers, calla lilies this time. She was in the room when I tried delivering them and would not accept it. She wanted me to try again. An hour later, I slammed a post-it-note on her desk. On it, I drew a two-second flower, more than she deserved. She took it, actually smiled and stuck it to her monitor. She even thanked me. I'm still not sure if she meant it mockingly, or if she owned true fondness for it. I'd rather not know at all._

His mother's handwriting straightens, becomes less dark. _If it were your first day, what type of flower would you like, Souji? What kind on your last day? Would you use the same corsage for graduation as wedding? How does bouquet telling you "sorry" look? Which petals would you choose to tell someone how you felt? Which flower would you most love to receive?_ He departs just for a bit, the answer to that question closer than the others. There's a flower he remembers, nameless and blue in his memory. _Giving flowers is often a nice gesture, but they have been involved in harassment._

 _Some of the most beautiful gardens, both natural and man-made, have been destroyed to make a statement, or for fun. I've seen such lovely buds exploiting allergies. Dangerous love triangles start with the gift of a rose. I'm guilty of using these beauties in my own heinous activities._ His seeping unease rests, solidifies as obsidian. _At the age of twelve, I placed second in our school's math competition. The girl I lost to was so sweet. I just had to break her little heart. The sight of honeysuckle never failed to boost her spirits. I later learned it concerned her late grandmother, but the reason didn't matter much back then. I simply bought some, left them mangled on her desk, in her shoe locker, let their scent mix with blood. The morning I set them on her windowsill was the last day she attended my school. She transferred. The next year, I won gold easily, but it didn't feel much like a win. Since then, I decided not to try things like that._

_I hope that doesn't ruin your image of me. You did ask, after all. I too have been on the receiving end. You know that feeling. Everyone does. It's just how the wheel spins. You have to be untouchable, Souji. Or appear that way. It makes things easier. You can go one of two ways._

_You can't cave, even when the odds are against you. You don't fold, even when you only need one card in the entire deck. You must counter every punch. You should come across as too dangerous, too hard, too sharp, too strong to touch. You'll be an imposing figure, too hot to handle. An impenetrable wall, and admired by all. This wall could be built from stupidity if you like. Obviously, you won't be coveted. Instead, you must be rubber to the glue. If you're too dim, too lazy, too idiotic for naivete, they'll only frustrate themselves, consider you a waste of time. You'll be left in favor of someone more fun, more rigid. The very sight of you will cause annoyance to raise within their weak brains. They won't stay in your presence for long. This technique was used by a classmate of mine. I dare say it works better._

_That perfect image also keeps me out of the office hot-seat. I've kept most disagreements to healthy debates, and severed the cat fights early. Anything dirty gets hauled behind closed doors. These rules served me well over the years. Go ahead and take a raincheck; I'll be happy to help any day. Just be mindful that in the end, the decision is yours._

_I've been the catalyst in a fair share of bad matches over the years. Sometimes you need bad matches to learn what's right. The most obscure couple can work in the end-- a princess and a street rat for instance. Likewise, a match made in heaven will fall straight to hell if ill-tended. High school kings and queens meet this fate. It happens everyday. My help's not always obvious. I hate being blamed for another's shortcomings. Have you been thrown under the bus recently? Or maybe you've done the tossing._

_That reminds me of a billboard I saw the other day, plastered to the vehicle. Our division managed the first major advertisement in 3 years! What I found most curious is that it was a story we covered 16 years ago, right around when you were born! Embarrassingly, I dropped my drink and still couldn't get a picture! Your father was a bit too late, but he did make a valiant effort chasing after the bus. We're assembling everyone to have a good look the next time it rolls around. It feels like forever since I've been this satisfied._ Happiness is contagious, even through paper.

_Love,  
Mom_

_P.S. This is a warning, Souji!_ His attention locks on a final time. _Your last letter was a stub. If you can't think of anything to say, I can think of 10,000 questions to ask. Some of those, I'm sure you won't want to answer (so try a little harder!). I'll let it slide this once, but I expect improvement next time! To get you pumped, how was your trip to the city? Did you miss the hustle and bustle? Did you let loose? Get all wet and wild? I'll know if you're lying, so becareful :)_

*

_What type of flower would you like, Souji?_

He spends his lunch in the library, flipping through pages and pages of books with volumes trying to garner some meager answer to her letter. At night, pen in hand, he feels inadequate. He quits seven minutes in, and books his Sunday for a trip to Okina.

He sets off for the largest shop and arrives a few minutes early, only able to observe through the windows. The worker isn't convinced he's only there to look. She hounds him for twelve minutes about the who and why until the bell trades her to customer. Souji slides off to the yarded area, and maybe he isn't there to just look. His stroll is leisurely, but his eyes are sharp, scrutinizing the rainbow of shapes and hues. It's rare for him to stop, despite all the magical arrangements dangling their lures. He crouches near a swirl of petals to match Teddie's fur-- forgetmenot they're called. Maybe he'll get them for a birthday.

He circles the full garden three times before noon. Afterwards, he walks in a different direction and loses count, but checks off the numerous occasions he stacked in his head last night.

He buys flowers anyway. They're small, pink, without elaborate lines, but expel life in a waft nearly tangible. He chooses them in potted presentation. The flower next to it he really doesn't like, so he hurries to the check out counter. He waits, sneaks a glance behind himself. Nothing behind him, but when he faces ahead, a black and itchy type of moss sprouts in his blind sight. He rings the bell for service once and watches the mat. A minute later, still alone, he starts shifting on the rounds of his feet. He sees the flower he left on the shelf, and rings the bell twice. The flower's tall, drags you to its core if you stare for even a second. It's an open bulb and feels safe at first, like escape is a leg out of bed. He taps the ringer incessantly until his wrist is forcefully set flat. 

The cardboard smile on the employee's face distracts him until she picks up with her earlier teasing. --They're for his little sister. The worker continues chattering, but her last question isn't as easy as the first. Anything else isn't meant to be regarded seriously, but when he doesn't answer immediately, she kicks up that expectant seller gaze. The neighboring flower winds around his consideration again. When he speaks, it's a request for his current purchase in stem form.

He exits successfully, his mother's favorite irises left on the shelf.

*

Souji takes his time with this letter. He adventures into the outside world, the shade beneath an old oak.

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_I rescued my first cat from a tree! It wasn't alive, but it wasn't dead either. ZOMBIE KITTY! His name? Scrumptious. =^-^=_

_...Sorry. It was a stuffed cat. (But it still looked like a zombie!) The girl told me she tossed it up there to keep it safe. The boys kept playing tug-o-war with it, or stepping on it, or drowning it. Really nasty things. They left her alone afterward, but she started crying because she couldn't get Scrumptious back. I_ He scribbles that out, considering his mother's last words. _You know how that goes._

_Oh, it had been a few days, so she forgot which tree it was in. I discovered a bird's nest while searching. There were unhatched little eggs and a diamond necklace! ★ Well, the diamonds were fake. I still almost got an eye pecked out when trying to take it._

_Sorry, Mom. I was running out of time. I thought about the flowers, explored a few fields. They varied greatly, and I kept losing my assignment. Glad I'm not being graded on this!_ He's wrong, he knows. It's easier to pretend if she's not staring him in the face. _A fresh start deserves fresh flowers, right? I imagine something tall and regal like daffodils. A vibrant color could never be bad. Nice and opposite for my last day-- colorless white. The petals would be grand and complex, reflecting the journey traveled. I'd love gardenias for graduation._

 _When I picture the wedding, there's always an open flower stretching backward to show its heart. I don't have a specific one in mind. The ones I'd give waiver too. Even if they're for the same reason, everyone would get a separate arrangement. I love you both, but I'd give Dad something other than your poppy, Mom. A hyacinth, probably._ He imagines the actual act of giving would surpass the mere adjectives he researched.

_There's a flower that bows-- the valley lily. It's perfect in apology. I'm not sure I could resist, but if I did, I'd be left with really sweet company._

_I've never been given a flower! As long as it's sincere, anything ♥ ...Okay, I have a number one choice, but I don't know what they're called. I remember one from our 2nd stay in Tokyo, in the courtyard. It's fine if you don't have a clue; I hardly do either. Just... a soothing blue, and a heavenly aroma that lingers even now._

He wakes from his miniature day dream, resumes telling.

_Thanks, Mom! Don't fret. Your image is intact. I guessed something like that earlier, but not to such a degree. I wanted to hear it from you. I can rest a little easier with those details... I'm glad you stopped._

_Congratulations on the ad!!! I wanna see. Which story got featured? & We don't throw people under buses here; it would break our only one!_

_Nothing crazy on the trip, Mom._ He wonders if that's a disappointment or not for her. _Just the usual fun, with a side of strange. Even though I was in the city, it didn't feel like what I'm used to. I think it's because I walked alongside my friends. The noises sound worlds different when you're part of it and **in** it instead of always listening. Like comparing background soundtrack to concert._

 _Oh, the hotel we stayed in was weird. Incredibly. One of my friends couldn't get to sleep. He tried 28 positions, but each was usually worse. He kept us all up, so we just explored the room. There was a never-ending list of bubble bath options...some had special effects. There were mirrors everywhere, more than people, so we wrote over them._ Yosuke wrote things he can't tell his parents. Kanji's weren't exactly model statements, and Teddie's were hieroglyphics. _On the second night my friend fell asleep. He hogged the sheets completely...like a mummy. Everyone else had to use each other to keep warm._ An uncomfortable, but joyful experience.

 _We studied most of the day, but snuck in our own twists too._ Best he can, he deflects attention from their little game. _Have you ever played truth or dare?_

_I came back with a few things. One of them is a question for you, Dad. I didn't have this problem before Inaba. Maybe because I didn't see anyone outside of class? Sometimes I feel like I'm speaking with another tongue, or looking through someone's glasses, and maybe listening to a swapped player. Have you ever felt that way? When I talk to people, I'm not always sure what to say. I know what I want to say, but maybe I should say something else. Too often, the best answer doesn't feel like the right answer. Which should I voice?_

He can't end this with a serious taste. _I'm excited about fall! Summer was great, but it'll roll around again. Let's try hand fishing next time!_

_Love,  
Souji_

He tucks this one delicately in the mail box out front, leaving the rest in the post man's hands.

*

This will be the first time in eleven years that Souji's given his mother a flower. The last one he offered was paper. According to her, "The worth of a flower is lost if it lives forever without blooming." Like all worthless things, his belonged in the trash. She received flowers from others, but they all died and landed in their rightful place. He's afraid that if he gives her another one, she'll throw them both away. But those eleven years contribute bits of wisdom, sprinkles of courage. He begins the second attempt.

His flower won't die, but it will bloom. It will bloom. With his army of eighty-eight crayons, he charges the sketchbook's first page.

*

He calls early in the day this time, his father. He leaves the phone on through class, listens to the music and advertisements on the way home, keeping one ear open for a change. An hour before dinner, he's down to a five-minute wait. Every note of music mutilates his ear drums, with every second drying out his mouth. His hands have no problem sweating, and he's worried his phone might spark. Then it rings. Once, and his heart drums as if counting down a new year. Twice, and his throat is so rough and so tight he can't fathom the sound it might eek out. The third takes him by surprise, as he never hears it. The voice that fills his ears is not his father's, but his own-- loud and anguished as he shatters his phone against the wall.

*

Souji's got sparks shooting through his veins. This is cheap, underhanded, filthy. He should feel guilty, preying on the unsuspecting. But it's so _easy_. Like lying to a baby-sitter.

He bought a new phone; he needs his old numbers.

Dojima just goes on about how kids these days are too reliant on technology and in _his_ day things were concrete on paper. Souji smiles and promises to take better care and experiment the old fashioned way. Alone in his room, he does just that. Over an hour is spent copying and re-writing his father's cell number before he switches to his mother's. They're wonderful sequences, a definite representation of their owners. He recalls the past numbers too, all of them. He can't imagine forgetting, is sure muscle reflex knows even better.

He eyes his phone, hovering over both numbers, uncertain of which to dial. 

He freezes.

It's not guaranteed, but if he calls, the number might change again. He shuts the phone, decides not to waste it.

*

Incessant buzzing harasses his ear, and he swats his phone, only partially on accident. Tonight is simple. He doesn't have to fold or unfold anything. He won't rise to write with a different hand using tones from memory. He won't force anything down a timeless hole.

The lock is finicky, difficult to open, and he's pretty sure that's strange. Tonight is not a night for decoding puzzles. He wrestles with the lock until it pops, and returns to business. September 2011...

His hand balks, envelope captive between his fingers. He sent this. Twice. Or maybe sent August a little late. Did he send October early? He's had his treat for this month. The fragile balance mustn't tip. He counts-- numbers are steady, unlike him.

Seven. Seven. March, February, January, December, November, October, September. Why so many when he's already...? Time's ticking away, pulling away the sheltering rug of fog. Repair. Doesn't matter how, just do it, and do it now. One extra's alright, he can send the other whenever, destroy it whenever.

He rips one in half-- _September_ \-- tosses it in the waste bin. The treasure box locks, drawer retreats, and Souji falls asleep.

*

Last day of September. He marks the calendar, energized to turn it in a few hours. He'll clean as usual, start the month fresh.

Souji frowns at the paper littering his waste bin. He picks up the two halves. All he needs is to transfer it, but his eyes catch, and suddenly his hands won't let go. It's...a letter. He doesn't get much mail, but when he does, it's important. Important... 

He shakes the insides free. A quick skim proves everything. "I'm sorry," slips from his lips. Droplets fall from his eyes, pushed by a wave of horror. He crumbles to the desk and lets the emotion pour. He can't say it anymore, can't get anything out of his mouth but fragmented screeches and stunted air.

 _Are you okay?_ "I'm soRRY!" He won't say anything else, not until it gets through. He even kids himself that the depths of his apology can be reached with 'sorry.'

 _Calm down...breathe_? Souji shakes his head and keeps the apologies running. There's a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he gives in to cling with an almost strangling hold to the steady figure. His anguished cries continue, shudders magnified as someone else supports his weight. "I'm sorry, Daddy..."

 _Talk to me._ "I didn't mean-- I'd never-- I'm s--" 

_What happened?_ He starts talking but anything distinct melds together; His lips are lost, wandering in clumsy circles. His brain doesn't find a sensible match. His heart understands so well that it can't regulate a thing.

"--rry. Please, believe me. I--" He misses it, the noise. "Do you-u? I'm so sorry...please."

 _It's alright._ Shut up, shut up. He wants his father and not this liar; even if it's sweet.

"I'msorry. I'msorry. I'm--"

 _Ssshhhhh_.

He's enveloped by strong arms, one at his hair, another fueling the protective embrace. He sways to the side, a controlled rhythm that makes it easier to breathe. Souji's eyes crack open and take a watery glare at the tortured sheet. This hatred is aimed at the wretched fists still clutching it, the precise ones that started this fucking mess. He browses for a line. The first one he can make out is _Love, Mom, Dad._ His eyes shut for his mouth to do just the opposite. "She'll kill me..." The more he thinks about it, the more his fragile calm recedes. "That's it. That's the last--" His voice splits, ruptured by a dry sob and pathetic apology. "She'll hate me..."

An avalanche of tears and the hug tightens, until he can focus on nothing but techniques to inhale and exhale. When it loosens, he clenches their torn words. He whispers to himself. "What do you think she'll do? ...She's gonna yell, she _always_ yells. But now..." He hiccups, feels a quiver in his lips. "She'll be furious. What if... she finally laces my bed with needles? Or serves it all cold...and old, past date... She might turn the stereo on, where I can't reach so I won't get to sleep." Or worse. But if he says it, he'll lose it. Because she might send Dad away... It might only be a thought, but it's enough to slice his breathing to high-speed bits.

His hair displaces frequently, soothingly, and the air comes easier, but so do the tears. _Sssshhhh. He's safe now_?

How long it's been, he can't begin to guess, but on the inside lays silent. He can hear a rickety, but gentle humming from the outside. It's a song he knows, one everybody with ears does, lulling him like the scent of honey. If he could get a wish before bed, he knows instantly what it would be.

"I just want her to love me."

 

He rouses from sleep, whatever hour in the darkness, feet connecting with something soft. The room swirls a little. Afterwards a pillar of warmth unwraps his torso, and Souji's arms sluggishly extend to keep it close. "Daddy..." Stay, or nestle him between mom and dad, like once upon a time.

The response is low, though gentle as if holding a heart. "I'm not your father."

Souji squints, tries to adjust his vision and in the end settles for grappling the stand-in's stubble face. "Ah. Uncle..." His brief smile sags. "Where's Dad?"

There's a long pause, borderline triggering his worry. "Overseas, Souji."

"Wha--" His throat is clogged, his mind hazy, but not enough to let that pass. "No, he's not. He's in Japan."

"Souji, your father is overseas."

"No, no." Why that answer again? "They just moved here. To--"

"Souji, you were dreaming."

He shakes his head. "They just sent me a letter." He points in direction of the desk, but his arm is soon eased down. Dojima's face is clear enough that he can see additional weary lines. "I'll show you."

"It's been a long night, Souji. Why don't you get some sleep?"

Well, he apparently just woke up. But Souji understands when he's told to behave.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep."

His minor vexation melts. He'd rather not reject it, but, "I don't think I can sleep."

"Do you want to talk?"

No! "No." He sinks under the covers, greeting the wall. "I'll try to sleep."

"Alright then." He hears Dojima's stifled yawn.

Souji is tired, a notch _too_ tired. The longer he stares at the paint, the farther back his memory drifts. It stops when he finds the disgraced letter, replays that more than the jungle of wails that followed. The strangest detail is that he can't remember the details-- the shredding or the why. Why would he forget-- Rather, why would he do it in the first place? He can't think of any sentence they could write to make him demolish a full letter. Even if he isn't...pleased, with it, he could never be so ungrateful. Right?

He rolls to face Dojima, ready to say it isn't working, and is met with an unexpected sight. Although not snoring, his uncle is definitely asleep. A few shakes confirm that he's quite far along. Souji creeps out onto the floor and retrieves the envelope pieces. Flinches. With a bit more care, he smoothes the papers and joins them. Switching on the lamp and slumping in the chair, he begins the investigation.

The only lines familiar are _Dear Souji_ and _Love, Mom, Dad_. He scans it again and again, receives an echo from hollow space.

He's never read this letter. Give him a chance and he'll swear it on his life. Of course, he ripped the letter in its sealed state, so that makes sens--

What.

Oh. _Oh_.

Sometimes, mysteries are good. Cracking one risks destroying the magic. For now, he has an answer to substitute.

Conclusion? It's a surprise letter. He hates surprises. It makes sense to nip this one in the bud. He pushes all four segments into the bin, promises to burn them in the morning.

He can forgive himself one day.


	8. Illusion Road

Souji's shelving the dishes, careful as possible while silent attacks bombard him from his uncle's arsenal. In the morning, he prayed to dodge any interrogations. Now, after enduring a dinner service where Dojima did nothing but watch him with concern, Souji's about to start the conversation himself. If he doesn't do it, Dojima will find him every five minutes with a new topic.

"Uncle, can I talk to you?"

Dojima turns the TV off, invites him to a seat on the couch. 

"It's about last night. Let's start with the crime, shall we?" He stares his uncle down, finds speed the easiest route. "I tore a letter once. You know my parents send me letters. Those letters mean a lot to me. It's not something new this year. We've exchanged letters ever since I learned how. When we're together, it's--" He stumbles, refusing to go into detail, but equally adverse to admitting, "it's just silly stuff, because we see each other everyday. But I _love_ doing it." Almost at the end. "Their value's absolutely insane when we're apart; I get home sick so fast." Clear. The rest should prove less challenging. "One of my old schools had a very strict policy concerning off-campus resources. I wasn't allowed any letters."

Dojima's brow creases. "They blacklisted letters from your parents?"

"Very strict." He waits a moment, lets Dojima scratch his chin, and only continues when the man's mouth starts to open. "That couldn't happen. I found a method for sneaking them in-- the way everyone smuggled snacks. But just like them, I eventually got caught. The headmistress-- devil incarnate-- of all people, found me. I think she was in a good mood that day." He eases up, drops his tone. "I had a choice to either tear the letter, or read it over loudspeaker. I ripped it. Luckily--" Another pause and he twists a hand in his hair, briefly laughs."--if you can call it that-- she only confiscated it. I broke into her office, reclaimed my treasure." He shifts focus back to his uncle from beneath ashen bangs. "She never realized.

"I-- Even though I succeeded, I still tore it. I feared my parents knew, and planned on never sending another letter. I couldn't apologize in case they didn't know. Guilt did to me what I did to the letter. I couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate. Then, I finally got another letter." He sits up, lets his eyelids fall. "It still doesn't sit right with me. That's why, last night, when I said 'sorry'..."

"Mm." Dojima's thinking again; Souji can hear it. There's nothing more for him to do but wait. "If it causes you that much agony, come clean. You've been at the tradition long enough. I doubt they'd stop writing you over a little incident."

"That sounds deceptively simple." But he'll take a chance and give it a shot. "...You think so?"

"Switch places. Would you forgive them?"

"Of course." Saying it outloud tugs up the corners of his mouth. "I see. Thanks, Uncle. I'll try it."

"You said some other things, besides apologies." Maybe not free yet. "Do you remember?"

"I never got caught taking it back. The headmistress is a demon. There are rumors of her tracking down students well in their thirties to get revenge. I've faced her horrors head on before. I'd rather not do it again."

"Has she actually laced someone's bed with needles?"

"My roommate." Souji uses the hard stare this time.

"You're that scared? I can't imagine anyone that obsessed."

"You didn't know her, Uncle."

"Hmm." He appears thoughtful, but it's the same reply. "Let's pay a visit to the school."

"W-What?"

"Come clean about that too. Then you won't have to worry about her invading your sleep."

"...I'm gonna pass on that one."

"You sure? The fear might kill you before she does."

"I'll be fine."

"If you say so."

He fidgets. "...Is that it?"

"I'm out of questions. Anything you want to confess?"

The look he fixes Souji with... But it's still a question, so he shakes his head. He's dismissed, and nearly has a foot on the stairs, when he hears one last promise.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm just down the hall." All at once, Souji hates Dojima, just a bit.

"I'll keep that in mind." He only says it to head up the stairs.

*

Dojima tells Souji there's a delivery awaiting his presence. He travels the strange distance to his room, clueless as to what he might find. He cracks the door. His confusion heightens when the desk is blank. The table is empty too. He frowns, but thinks it might be small. Maybe it's hidden? He hadn't expected anything that day until Dojima teased him.

He ventures further in, crawls for a lower view. He has a pillow raised when the breeze tumbles through a window he doesn't remember opening. It drags a strange scent, one from a fairytale he heard maybe too many times. His eyes snap up, hands unclamp. Burglary? It's tempting to report for everything his delivery steals-- uncertainty, despair, composure, thought order. He sneaks up on it, careful and slow-- approaching a rare specimen. It doesn't run, nor does it bite when he reaches a finger over and taps a petal gently before snatching his hand back.

It's still there.

He touches it again, runs his thumb along the cyan petals a bit longer. His heart races; everything feels slow by comparison. He involves his other hand with the stems, the leaves, all healthy and a tad wet. He dives in, absorbs their sweet smell like a kid with cotton candy. It's April, before it became dismal. The sun is bright, weather warm-- breeze too, and he has an outing with his parents tonight because it's _Sunday_. He loves Sunday. The wait could kill, but he's been counting down. Just three hours now, and he can get ready. This time it's a surprise, but whatever it is will be exciting and fun and they won't return until he's fallen asleep in _someone's_ arms. He's gonna lie here, in this rainbow garden, chat to the world and conserve his energy until then.

Cerulean petals fill his vision. It's... Ina--? His lids fall. Tokyo. He debates on staying this way. Three hours, the blink of an eye when placed beside the same number of days, months, years. He can wait.

Souji merely opens his eyes and watches the flowers catch sunlight. His smile brightens, and he accepts the full display without distancing himself. The vase is frosted glass-- a round bottom and blossoming top. Tied around the center is a multi-ribbon bow, flaunting a lovingly handwritten tag, _-From- Dad & Mom_. He twirls a finger through the flowers, tries counting them. Same hours in a day. In the flurry is a pearly envelope, nothing on it but his name, written smooth as silk. He separates the letter, then one of twenty-four, and drapes himself backwards over the couch.

He rests the flower on his collarbone, begging it to intoxicate him further. As he starts to read-- _god_ , would his father be charged with murder, if he died of happiness right then? Any scheduled plans for tonight get canceled.

_Dear Souji,_

_It's funny you should mention fish. We finally received the fish for the office tanks a few days ago. Everyone picked one. Mine is navy, with black stripes-- he's Sou-chan. Your mother selected one in a variety of golds-- nicknamed Ji-chan._ He manages an almost intelligible word, settles for a sigh filled laugh. _They're a fresh breath of life, and very relaxing. I feel a little bad for them. If the fish are at all similar to the mindless fools who chose them...That bowl must be cramped. I can barely stand being in the same hallway. I don't want to imagine something smaller. I'm attempting to sic Ji-chan on Toshi-san's. Hopefully, tailwhips start next week._

 _We drew straws for assignments again. Ours is the construction site for Hayu's Resort. Lucky, right? They're almost finished, so we're just writing a glamorous review to bolster the opening._ If he can find it, he can read it. This is the first time in a long while they've given such a strong hint. The excitement's a bit much...

 _I know we landed a billboard thanks to the film rooted in similar events. It's focused on the arson and robbery case that assaulted Bordeaux in 1994._ Souji snaps still. It's off from his expectations. _The attempted murder it leads up to is thwarted in the movie, **Knock Knock** \-- all criminals locked behind bars, etc., In reality, the final goal only crumbled because of a miscalculation. The criminals escaped. It's assumed they committed further theft. There was a young detective who may have made considerable progress in the case. However, that division is known to be exceedingly vicious, and trampling such a calf is all too common. That, or his trail was so hot he became a victim as well. He's six feet under now. A substantial amount of evidence he harbored is plunged lower than his body._ It's not cold yet by any means, but a prickle rises in his blood. He waits for it to sink again.

 _The department's sensitivity keeps a bold censor over information, both rumors and fact. This includes ours. If you like, we can send the entire manuscript to you._ Ah, sneaky. _However, I'd like something in return._ His finger pauses, anticipating. _I'll leave precisely what is given in your hands._ Wha-- Souji keeps from creasing the paper by resuming his finger's careful strokes down the stem. He tries to keep them even, help to pace his thoughts, but both are slow and a bit jittery. Another chance to impress Dad has kindly fallen in his lap? His own choice? He rolls the flower between two digits instead, presses his lids together tightly, stands by until the feeling recedes.

 _Truth or Dare? We haven't played since high school. Drinking games took center stage, you see. Although, it's easy to become drunk through power in Truth or Dare. One person steers into the Valley of Death, and everyone needs a spin. That's when you ask or answer questions, make and fulfill requests you're unable to fully handle._ Souji may not have been prepared for read this section. _Double checking, this looks too heavy. I'll throw in a consolation prize-- how's that?_ Dad knows! Yay! _I always sided with truth because dares were more embarrassing. Our circle established a new rule, which muscled me into a dare. The next day I had to bring in a cake for our teacher, "made with love," in front of the class. Everyone still remembered me as "Suck-up Seta" at the last reunion... I didn't expect it to stick. Honestly, the initial "Stuck-up Seta" was more accurate._

 _I'll tackle that last question, Souji,_ He bends a petal sheepishly. Did he ask too many? He's fired more before, lost count at thirty-two and fell asleep before finishing. _the one about words too embarrassing to say, deranged thoughts that keep you up at night, or the vision with a felon's sight._ Had he phrased it that way? It's not quite-- Well... _My guess is that you're wading a river of change._ Oh. Really? _Have you stumbled upon a realization? Dealing with the aftermath frequently results in this. Relax._ It resembles a spell. The quality of his dad's voice normally soothes him. But the specific _language_ decides everything else. _It's not another species trying to manipulate your body._ When put that way, he feels a little silly. _Although, your thoughts may sound alien. You're correct thinking lying helps, but you missed a key part. Lying only helps for a time, and before you know it, the train is on one-way course to Troublesville. The ticket back always costs more than the ticket leading there. If you shelter any other illusions, you haven't lied enough._ It sounds personal, almost. But Souji knows better than to think Daddy's ever... ever... He skips the thought, reads on. _What you say and do is ultimately up to you. If you get confused, simply remember: Lying is trying. Truth flows naturally._ The answer-- so easy to understand, explained like this. He's missed that.

 _Now, I'm concerned. How are you sleeping at night?_ Souji indulges in the slightest of chuckles. He knows it's wrong, but it feels the tiniest bit good to be unintentionally troublesome. This once... His hand slips, and accidentally aims the petals toward himself, causing the sweet scent spilling its magic. _What do you dream about? What demons awaken, on the edge of sleep? Do you feel rested? At least I don't have to worry about your friends. They sound like a solid group. Congratulations!_ He let the flower slide a little too close, distantly allowed it to rest between his lips. The combination is dreadfully dangerous-- the tangiest air, mixed in heaven sent words-- 

_Love,  
Dad_

a drop of ecstasy.

He lies there, soaks up the last few words and just basks in the warm sunshine. Exhaling softly, he reviews the letter again. And again, and again, and the only thing able to stop him is a call for dinner. It's shame, but maybe they'll only have to part for a half hour? When he removes the lid, his box looks more full than he estimated. Souji doesn't mind. Honestly, a letter every other week? He could get used to that.

 

"BIG BRO!"

Violently ripped from layers upon layers of beautiful fantasy, Souji wakes up with his ears still stuffed-- one with dimming voices, the other by a loud ringing. He misses Nanako's first plea. She re-explains, and the bells aren't in his head. He silences the alarm, sends Nanako back to bed, and promises to bring home pudding. He glances back at his phone, figuring he mistook AM for PM. His impaired brain hits a wall upon reading the message. _July 2012_. Well, that's a long way off. Too far to set an alarm. 

Whatever. It's late; he shifts it to next week, alters it to afternoon.

*

Souji's on the school roof, thinks it'll help restrain him in whatever conversation results. Except, he might not need any help. He's scrolling past their numbers again, minutes ascending, developing an hour. He should call his dad. Definitely.

Definitely not. It'll turn into a bad habit; a favorable reply, or even just hi, and he might not stop calling. Plus, if he is rejected, it will be easier to hear from her.

He calls, and hangs up before it rings. Do they still have his number? They should. Oh, now he can't stop dialing. He clicks off faster each time, until he exiles the phone to his pocket. How likely is she to pick up, knowing it's him? If she does, will he even get that happy greeting? It's better for him if they deleted it.

He'll call from the residential phone, next week. Surely.

*

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

 _THANKS!!!!!_ Diagonally, it spans most of the page, and he's forced to curve and miniaturize further exclamation points to make sure they all fit-- mostly; he might be missing two or three or seventeen. This is his best attempt at keeping sentences together.

 _HOW DID YOU REMEMBER?!!! DID YOU FIND THEM!!? I WAS SO SURPRISED!!! IT MUST HAve been troublesome. Aren't you busy ♥? You're spoiling me ♪_ Don't stop. _I never thought I'd get flowers...ever, especially - what are these called? I sat on the roof with one, lost track of time. They remind me of you! I've been keeping one near at all times. I don't want them to die. So, I'll plant 3, and they can be a little version of us!_

 _I can't tell you how happy I was to receive them... I want to say thank you, but it's not enough. The best way to show you is to make sure you feel the same way._ He knows what to do. _Except, I'll need to see you for it to take full effect!_ For once, there's no ploy to make them visit, or nudge to have them ask him, no sly hand trick adjusting slow numbers on the clock. It's a rare day. If he wants, he'll ask honestly, all shy words and exposed veins. He's careless enough today.

He's also content today, and more than a little nervous. But those two together-- the delightful fear-- bind him to the here and now reality.

This side is full, so he turns the page over, etches his life on that. _We have stars in Inaba. They're not the kind you're most familiar with. No limousines, or gigantic shades, or diamond grins. Weird, right? Inaba has the ones in the sky, separate from the sun. Most only peek out at night, and fade with the morning light. When's the last time you've seen those without a frame?_ Even now, the bright whites illuminating shops, pixilated street signs, and everchanging highways pulse behind his lids, by default. _They don't hide out here. I wonder what they're afraid of in the city. Up to now, I only saw them as funny sparkles. Such a waste. They're closer to wild fire, spreading just as fast. Restless serenity-- my blood rushes miles faster while I stare, but it's a welcome pace. And at the height of it all, the world could be mine. I don't know how that would feel, exactly. But it feels within my grasp. And not having it? Really hard to endure. ...That's usually when I stop staring, haha._

 _Thanks for the last letter, Dad ♥. Seriously, it helps-- hearing it from you. This change...I think I'm going to like it._ He strokes his phone absently. He's in great spirits now, but eventually...

 _Did you really name the fish after me?? Ah,_ His cheeks color, and whatever he intended to mark shrinks to a scribble. _I'm not mad. The opposite. Hah, so embarrassing. Glad you did. _

_I'm okay. I have odd dreams more than really bad ones, at least._ The masked luchador wrestling in particular. _And the occasional nightmare isn't terrifying enough to keep me up at night._ He recalls seeing a certain hell whenever he closed his eyes, remembers begging until left with no choice but to surrender and die every night, just for the birds to revive him and do it all over again. Why didn't they ask then? _I hope your dreams are well._ This flows naturally, so it must be true. But Souji wonders-- just a stray thought-- if he's the one to drive the nightmares that _do_ tear through their consciousness.

_Miss you,  
Souji_

He turns to set the alarm, and re-considers. There's something else he needs to send in return that won't be separate. It should be done soon, but why chance it? Besides, he likes truly sending these. It's fun. Not that it makes an ounce of difference in the end.

 

There's no cover, no impressive presentation to sway one's mind as to what's inside. The CD reads, _To: Mom & Dad_. He signs the bottom half, large and elegant to pass as a title for an otherwise nameless selection. Lineless paper wraps the center of a clear case and bears the listing.

 _1\. This track is special to you both. I tried maintaining the real version._ The pacing is screwed every so often, among other mistakes.  
 _2\. Mom, I couldn't play your favorite song (difficult!), hope this substitute's ok... I know it always brought a smile to your face._  
 _3\. Dad, here's a tune I picked up from you. I bet you didn't know, but I practiced it in secret ♪_  
 _4\. This is the song that never ends! For me, anyway. Remember? I couldn't stop playing it, even in class. You might not recognize it without all my old mistakes!_  
 _5\. Try to guess this one. Can you? You can't! It's original. Do you like it?_  
 _P.S. - I want that manuscript!_

He mails this puppy directly from the post office.

*

A summer inspired beat draws him from a deep sleep. _August 2012_. His fingers know this dance.

_Dear Souji,_

_Have you made any friends? If not, there's still time. If you have, are they to your liking? Are they the type you love, or ones only like? It's alright to have both, neither, or one. They change places. Do you remember what I told you about friends? That you should always give as good as you receive? Sometimes, you have to make the first move. Take care of your friends. I think you'll find them easier to trust than you first imagined._

_The pair of statues here tie in with one of the strongest tales of brotherhood. The twist? The men are not related by blood. Knowing that, does the story lose its power? I would love to hear a score, by you, based on lore. It's not required, but give it a shot if you have time?_

_Love,  
Dad_

This one is very good. It could almost pass for the real thing. He sticks it in the chest beside its older siblings.

*

"You might wanna come down here, sonny. Something more in your price range."

He glances at the store owner. "It's not the price I'm concerned about." This one's too extravagant anyway, as if the only purpose was display-- impractical for use.

"Woah! Rich parents? You look the type."

This is the only appropriate shop in distance. He'll play nice. "I just want something that lasts."

"Oh! Then, you're still in the wrong section! Follow me, my boy. You said price wasn't an issue?"

He senses the dark sky, but pushes it aside. While listening to specifics, Souji browses and it's a game of wrong-worse-almost.

The wrong is a little too...classic. His Mom might like it. Worse is always modern, but overly so. He wants the timeless trait. The almosts are meant for somebody else.

"You want that one. You've returned five times."

Has he? He takes another glance, unable to label it in one of the three categories. "I do." Its board is rich, in both color and texture. The pieces are made of a stone, dark as midnight, with jeweled accents. The floor, a properly titled staged, looks ready.

"Then, what's the hold-up?"

It's fitting, but not perfect. "Can you engrave it?" He'll make it perfect.

*

He lets this one ring a little after it stirs him from sleep, but shields under his pillow, so it can't wake anyone else. The tune isn't for anyone else after all. It's a careful weaving of two songs recorded separately, both just for him. It's only from violin and piano, but that's all he needs. On it's forty-seventh repeat, he flips it open, _September 2012_ , and brings the concert to a close.

_Dear Souji,_

_I didn't attend a meeting today. I'm not sure if it was sabotage, but the times I copied were incorrect. I'm in deep. Souji, mistakes happen all the time. What's important is how you handle the aftermath. Take something from it. Always. Maybe you can't immediately, but please remember. It will be important for the rest of your life._

_You'll find massive road blocks, the ones you think are impossible to cross. Can you handle a speed bump? If so, you'll be able to handle road blocks too. They might seem unrelated, but if you've done it once, you can do it twice! I've seen you conquer speed bumps, Souji._

_Keep fighting!_

_Love,  
Mom, Dad_

Flawless. He sends this one down with the others.

*

He's lost in his closet, looking for something spectacular. Upscale casual. Two outfits-- one day, one night, and he has day complete. Maybe pajamas. No, definitely, then he'll have the option to lie and borrow something, or to be truthful.

 

Cowering before him are all three sets, paired with the proper belt, accompanied by the correct watch, finished with the perfect accent. He gingerly packs them, but their squirming slows him down, maybe a bit too much because then the uncertainties return. He wrestles a bit harder, just to give himself something else to focus on besides mouths creeping out from under his thin bed of calm.

 _What's wrong?_ Nothing. Everything's better than fine. That's why he's leaving. It's his prize for working really hard.

 _Then you would do this if they were in Germany too?_ Well, it would be more difficult.

 _But you would?_ He pauses with a sleeve still out of the bag. _You would go the distance without permission because this is a reward?_

Fucking-- He stomps on the bag, grinds it into the rug, but the clothes only squeal as the real voice drills him. _Then it is the distance? You're weak. You can't resist. All it takes--_ He swears again, empties the bag to examine the damage. Wrinkles. He has to get them out and roll them more carefully next time. His mother will admonish him around every corner. His father won't say a word, just let his expression mimic the clothes in great stealth, and maybe take a step away.

The tone is gentle. _You're waiting for a reason. Is it really alright to leave now?_

Of course, it's perfect to go now. He shifts his eyes from floor to mirror, focuses in on his cheek where he used to add up the lies he told. He wonders when the number reached sky-high.

*

It's not the most convenient time. He's stranded between floors, unsure if either direction could really help this situation. The phone in his hands chants quietly, all ill premonitions. _July 2012_ steers him to a silent haven. Unfortunately, it's not an empty one. He navigates around the tables filled by exam study groups until he finds a small, isolated one waiting just for him.

He doesn't have the best paper. Maybe he'll translate it to his mother being unable to wait. Tiny details like that make them more precious.

_Dear Souji,_

_We had a team building exercise half-way through today's meeting. I found it upsetting, at first._ It comes so easily he should be ashamed. _We were at each other's throats and going nowhere. Did we really need material for spiteful jokes later? I would have relished the prospect, had I not been at risk myself. In the end, it was a painful, but helpful process. We didn't honestly enjoy the hugging, but it wound us up again, and we regained our control. With our guards up, we could focus on the assignment instead of half-witted personal knocks. It returned the importance of unity we lost._ He rests while his heart races. What he needs is...

_I'm not saying all your partners will be similar, especially the bitter part. Harmony will be important, regardless of hidden, or bared, emotions. Discord can hold even you back from ultimate glory. It isn't necessary to like everyone you work with, but it is imperative that you understand how to work with both your friends and enemies._

Touch and go. His hand skips quick, like a stone on water. _You may assume friends to be the easiest to manage. Do not take this for granted. Friends can really mess up your flow. It's not always intentional, or malicious. They may become lax, and expect you not to care. Others will lose focus, and drag you off to Never Never Land._ This is one of the painful writings; love hurts, they say. _If neither of those, they'll try to rally you behind their flawed ideas. Since they are closer to you, it's easy to lose yourself. Try to bounce off of them, not with them. A good balance is never bad, and it's much easier to find that with like-minded people as the spark already exists. Fireworks are beautiful-- forest fires, not so much._

He knows exactly what to write, how to help his future self. And he knows it sounds better through her script. _Your opponents start those fires, but they could turn into a fantastic light show. They push you-- all the wrong buttons. You improve, if only to not be trampled. Just becareful when you lead the stampede. It's easy to lose sight of what's ahead when all you stare at is beneath your feet. You could drive over an edge from which you can't return. Don't be blind. You'll want to pay full attention, and go against him, as foes should. Remember that friction creates heat. If you both burn, the results will be explosive, and perhaps destructive in all the right ways._

_Then we have the middle ground. You can't have a proper arsenal without them. Spend time with them. It's never a waste. If you can't befriend them from that alone, you'll gather material to bribe or_

Sudden speech cracks his concentration. He can't understand if it's his name being called, or a simple "Is this seat taken?" but it sounds like bad news. He jabbers on until it's a whole new tongue and backs away slowly with the letter clutched to his chest. His mouth's voiceless stretching is all the cue Souji needs to scramble limbs and barrel around shelves, bound over tables, and escape into the hall. He narrowly avoids most idly lingering shadows, until a collision on the stairs throws them both to the floor. Souji rolls into a wall and feels the paper scrunching between his fingers; it's secure. He wobbles on his feet and half-runs, half-trips, down the remaining steps.

He doesn't close the door at home, and only takes his shoes off because they catch and snare. July 2012 is locked inside an envelope and down the chute before he can stop himself, but realization pierces him right as the letter leaves his hands.

_It wasn't signed. ___

__Souji terrorizes his gray strands, but he manages a deep breath. Followed by another. And another. He tries counting to ten, but only reaches eight when he's down on his knees, warming the lock in his hands. Sign the one letter. That's it. And fix the order._ _

__He feels for the keys, releases the hatch and picks up the most recent envelope. He doesn't bother finishing, just tosses a quick _Love, Mom_ and buries it beneath September and August, finally packs things up nicely._ _

__He nestles beneath the sheets, waits for sleep to join him._ _

__A half-hour later, he rolls on his side._ _

__An hour and he's smothering his ears with the pillow._ _

__He isn't thinking about it._ _

__He misses dinner because he isn't feeling well, but Nanako leaves him a rice bunny for if he feels better._ _

__His breathing is slow, deep, and easy; his eyes are shut, the room is dark, no one can see. Is he just not alluring?_ _

__Maybe he attracts bad things instead; there's just no room._ _

__A silent house; the street is quiet. Yet, he can't hear the sandman's footsteps at all. How long must he wait? How long _can_ he wait? No, no more thoughts. Just..._ _

__

__It's ten thirty at night when his eyes snap open, and he realizes he'll fall into a light slumber soon. But it's far too late for that now._ _


	9. Special Night

Souji wrenches his lids apart, expecting to be rescued. But as his eyes dart around the pale room, the only things he finds are new monsters. They surround him, all dripping jaws and begging tongues. He shifts unwisely, provokes the once slumbering beast to paw at his leg, claws not yet bared. If he plays dead, it might desert him.

Unlikely.

He buries his face in the pillow-- so soft he almost calls her name. If he did, what would she do? Stroke his hair, grip him tightly? She'd let it chew up his legs regardless. He removes the sheets, hears their dying growl before sitting up, and tries to shake his nightmare. Because that's what it was, right? A nasty little dream with his hand and mismatched writing and _Dear Souji_ \--

He showers. It says hot, but sticks cold enough to make him shiver. 

There's a box in his bottom drawer. He doesn't like it; it looks exactly like the one in his dream-- steel, with two slots and four compartments, a red side, and a green side. They're locked, so he can't get in them.

 _You have two keys. What do they go to?_ Anything but that. _Perfect size. The colors match. Why don't you try it?_ He does, intending to nullify every jeering doubt. The green side-- easy. Letters, no, _copies_ , addressed to his parents' old residence. They're in case he forgets what he wrote. The past years' are in the lower compartment, so it's nothing new. The envelopes and stamps used are a waste. He should stop doing that.

The red half is hard to open. The lock keeps moving. Each envelope in this set is blank. He opens one, tears it eight lines through. The dream really happened. Okay. That makes sense; he just wants to write like her. Is that a crime? He checks a few more, and then just starts shredding before opening. It's insulting, isn't it? As if he could do a better job writing them. Cheap imitations.

He examines the last division. Again, with the blank covers and false print. The last letter wishes him luck for one more year, congratulates him on finishing junior. He mashes them into a giant ball, and seals it back up inside the chest with the first confetti sheets. They're nice ideas, but he can't have them mixing with the real ones. That must be why he locked it.

The container's very presence is absurd, and he regrets creating it, imagines it gnawing away at his desk through the day. Something like this in his room is the equivalent of a curse.

He thinks it's about time to analyze the TV's disposal qualities.

*

It starts when he needs extra notes for their study team. He runs up to his room, and checks the mail in passing as he leaves. There's nothing for him, but he's not surprised, not disappointed. Just the fact that checking it at any time might lead to a real discovery is exhilarating. His excitement pours over every week now, not just the one. He forgot how important that was.

Now, his joy resembles a wire spring which compresses further each time his search ends fruitless. Exams are a thankful distraction. Still, he fills every crack of time with flourishing daydreams. He won't receive flowers again. Or, he may. They'll simply be a new arrangement, somehow more spectacular than the last. Maybe they'll send money. But that won't be the best part. A note will be attached to it, tell him not to spend it until they go out together. He won't know when, just anticipate each forthcoming day until they pluck him away.

The clouds stick in his vision when his uncle presents an envelope too large for their little box. He's finally with the program and excited about them being in Japan too, or something similar; Souji can't listen well. His eager hands pull away tabs and flip flaps and drum lightly because he needs his uncle to _leave_ or this will be really awkward. The door closes and Souji removes the sent stack, careful to retain its order. On top is their letter, writings entwined but never folded. He delicately sets it aside, explores everything else. On bottom is that promised manuscript, proof enough that his offering passed. There are two other sleeves as well, glossy obsidian, a surprise he awaited shyly. He peeks inside one. What lights his curious eyes ignites a defenseless gasp, and he tries not to be clumsy, balancing haste against care. Her photo slips out, a vixen in high quality monochrome. Pose arresting, his eyes take her in, flooded with youth and slowing near her eyes. They're fierce, spinning her modest smile into a clever trap. The school uniform armors her curves in surprising length, but there's no mistaking his mother. He pulls away, tapped by an obvious notion toward the twin casing's contents.

His dad didn't go to the same building, yet retains a presence reaching out. He doesn't carry a cheerful chip, but Souji's never seen him so casual -- leaning against bricks of confidence, glasses exiled to dangle from his pocket like protests of bad behavior. He lingers, wedged between this interest and perusing curiosity. He's happy to experience them in a different time, but the photos feel heavy. While he hasn't been exposed to one, their childhood portraits must capture the same striking perfection. Now, standing upon similar-aged pedestals, the tilt is obvious. He doesn't have a picture to show them, and isn't convinced one would be a good return. Souji frantically hopes these are gifts, not an exchange.

He shifts both to the side temporarily, mentally red inks a note to shop for frames, maybe special order. He'll drink the manuscript last. Father lights the letter's deck.

_Dear Souji,_

_Perfect. That's the reaction I hoped for- so enthusiastic. We found the flowers based off of your hints. They're called chicories._ Ah, so that's their name. _Take care of the ones you grow, like you would us._ He'll do it this time, try all he can to prevent their breaking.

Her turn. _Souji, good news! The resort is fabulous. We left an honest review for once. And they gifted us another 3 night stay! We can invite another guest._ Wonderful! In a way, at least. He knows it's not possible, but that won't stop his heart from growing excited. _Catch on yet?_ No, way... _Join us!_ He sets the letter down, closes his eyes to try gaining faith in them again. He inhales deeply, reads it twice more to be sure and presses his face against it for each subsequent skimming. _How's Christmas break?_ Beyond perfect. Set. _Don't answer yet. Think about it and wait until the date's closer, in case your plans change._ He'll wait, because she's asking, but that time off is booked. He can't imagine sacrificing a rare chance such as this, even to the case. _You'll want to spend it with a special someone, I'm sure. Did you hook up yet? Your eyes must drift toward someone, even in a packed room. Is your desperate gaze returned? In backseat of the car, doing your best to keep the moans below that engine's chunky rumble-- Who's fingers strike mercilessly, aiming to break that limit? Your own? Or someone else's._

Dad takes the pen from Mom. _She's asking if high school's the same as always. It must be, considering the grown-up office isn't tame. I meant to swerve us back on track, but now I'm straying too. One more time: Have you checked the black envelopes yet? They're incentives for an honest answer._

 _Your father's giving me a suspicious look, but he's curious too! I'm just trying to make sure my little boy grows into a respectable young man. How's your criminal record? I don't want you going TOO crazy without us around. I know my brother's a workaholic, so he's easy to take advantage of. What are you doing under his radar? I won't tell!_ A number of minuscule dashes mark the page, as though a fair bit of prying was involved in this switch.

_It's good to hear you're enjoying things out there, Souji. Remember our video exchange? Let's deadline it for November 15th. I want it in the mail by then, not sitting on your desk. I'll stick to the same rule. Do your best._

Her swirls wind across the sheet again, briefly. _I'm up at night enough (can't always get to sleep), but I hardly noticed the stars were missing. You'll have to re-introduce us!_

His dad closes. _The stars may hide, but that sensation you described lurks behind everyone's sky. Your experience sounds like a preview. The full wave is more powerful than you can conceive. Everything is possible, and opportunities pile at your feet like offerings to a god. Feast on all your belly allows, because there's no second chance, not one do-over. The red carpet unrolls by wild cheers. Then, as you stride down that fine velvet, your foot snags on a bump- simple accident, but even effective on gods. That's all it takes. When you face up, the world's gone, path rotting. Don't breathe yet, because there haven't been enough laughs. Your leg broke in the fall, and someone took advantage- robbed the riches. It's the expiration of your happiness. However short or long it lasted depends on the person, but this always happens. Just wait your turn, Souji. At least end it with a bang._

_Love,  
Mom, Dad_

Souji lets the shiver run through his skin before flipping his sights up again. _Join us!_ she said, and because he has no reason to channel it as some destructive joke, he leaves the ravenous hope to roar about, unleashed. _How's Christmas break?_ Yes, yes, _**yes**_! Reading it a thousand times won't be enough, he needs something a little extra. A little treat to keep the wait from killing him-- a special night.

*

He won't be able to leave the house for anything, so he triple checks, and double stocks on every ingredient. Nanako's nudged to a friend's sleep over, and pattern shows Dojima will take the night out drinking.

He strips and starts the water, adding extra bubbles until the water itself is covered. The shower head feels funny in a way he hasn't noticed-- tickles everywhere he moves it, and his laughter echoes in the tiled room; for a moment, it sounds like it's not just his own.

Souji hops in the tub, explores it with Dolphin-kun. He hides in the bubbles, bides his time until he can scare his bathtime companion. Then he blows a path in the clouds for his friend to glide through as consolation. He juggles the sparkling clusters until cued by his uncle's goodbye and a car starting.

In no time the closet door is flung open, and Souji drags a regal chest from it. He begins inching the stockings up his legs. He wrangles with the bra, buttons the blouse and slides into the skirt. His hair snuggles beneath black strands while powder tinges his cheeks. He adds a few more shiny things that cause him to jingle down the stairs.

There's a clean, neatly written sheet with all the details he needs in front of him, but making this dish was nothing tidy. The shaker clogged, and then dumped way too much in, so Mom added something else to balance it. Dad burned the bottom afterwards, so they had to start over. Now, Souji finishes it properly in one go, and sets the table for three.

There's never been a dinner so silent; they don't eat or speak, so his noise hangs alone. He wraps their food up for later, when they'll recover. He heads out to the patio and slips her shoes on, situates his dad's frame to the side; he's alright enough to watch. Souji switches on the music and dances with Mother until they're tired and dizzy and a spent heap on the floor. He pulls Dad closer, sandwiching between him. This must not have been the best day.

"Did I upset you, Mom?" He paws at the familiar fabric covering her legs, but it doesn't squeeze out a reply. Her throat must be sore; maybe she'll answer in the morning. "I hope you feel better, Dad." Souji hugs him, and isn't totally satisfied. The casing's a mean barrier. It needs to go.

Left-chan has three latches undone, before Right-chan fastens them again. They get into a short tussle while his mind debates the matter. Dad's safe from him, but there's a chance Souji will damn him with creases if he gets any closer. Five-minutes should be okay. Or less, four minutes and thirteen seconds. One fifty-nine? Forty-two seconds, nothing could happen in such a short time span. Right-chan's guarding every latch now, with no hope of moving. Left-chan has an idea.

His left hand takes hold of the frame, lifts it high into the air and swings down with the force of a hammer. Souji confines a yelp as the water gathers over his pupils and the glass clatters away without a fracture. Left-chan apologizes, massages its bloody and brave brother. The ouchies begin to fade, and that's when he hears the door open. A yelp and thud duo tear through the house, and nail Souji to the floor. With the lights and music rolling, limiting his opportunities, he utters a foul phrase. He does all he can do-- stand and straighten his appearance for the inevitable.

Adachi-san stumbles in, shouldering a wasted partner. His face squints, doubles in disorientation. "Woah, is that you, Souji-kun? What's the occasion?"

He hesitates, not expecting such a mild question. "Secret."

"So, this is what you do when you're alone." Alone? No, his parents-- "You know, most kids your age throw crazy parties."

"That's never been my scene. Anyway, this isn't a regular occurrence."

"I'm sure it's not." Souji can't tell if he doesn't believe him, or simply doesn't care. Either way, the impression's doomed to stick. "Well, different strokes for different folks, as they say. Right?"

Souji doesn't fight it, just reaches for his wavering uncle. "I'll take him. You must be exhausted."

"Damn, what happened to your hand?"

He cleans it on her blouse, suppresses the horrified gasp. "It's fine." Dojima-san mutters a bit of nonsense during the transfer, sounding vaguely related to turtles.

"If you say so. Sure you don't want any help? I'm kinda used to this. Well, not finding dudes dressed as chicks, but--"

"I've got it, thank you, Adachi-san. Head home early, alright? You could use a break too."

"Thanks, Souji-kun. You're a good boy, you know that?" It doesn't sound like a compliment he deserves at the moment, but he stops on the steps. "Well, I'll be going now."

"Goodnight." His memory kicks him one last time before the man leaves. "Adachi-san? Could you...not tell anyone, about this? I'd appreciate it." He tries not to let on just how badly.

"Secret's safe with me!"

Souji's not fully relieved, given how much slips about the case from those same lips, but he smiles anyway, and tosses out some verbal gratitude.

The door closes behind a goodnight. Souji hauls the warm weight upstairs, reprimanding himself for every jingle heard. _When you're alone_ , he said. By himself, he never-- or, shouldn't-- but. A special occasion, that's right. That's why it's okay, because... it's special, and...

He helps Dojima-san onto the futon, aids him getting comfortable. "Sis? Where'd your knockers go?" The words aren't enough to pierce Souji's thoughts.

If no one stops him, or tells him no, this happens? What type of scowl would she use on him? What would his father say, in defense? _He'll grow out of it._ Souji groans, listens to their future crashing to pieces. 

"They'll come back... Cheer up." He's not sure anymore what substitute the curls bouncing on his shoulders were meant to give him. But he knows their synthetic fibers could never compete against the definition of his uncle's resting brow. He'll never be soft in places like her, and it's getting harder to play pretend. If she knew... which she doesn't. He can stay in these clothes all night and she'll never have a clue. He can, if he wants to... if he wants to...

He peeks between the button's edges, at the push-up beneath, and mentally writes the fuel of tomorrow's fire.

*

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

 _I made one of our old recipes-- Nanako and Uncle really enjoyed it ♫ We decided to have a cooking session of our own afterward. Uh, we didn't eat dinner that night, haha. At least the house is intact! They're determined to make something tasty, so hopefully it'll be edible next time, at least._ Aunt Chisato should have put some recipes away. Maybe, if they're up to it... _One day, the five of us should meet up and work together!_

_Uncle's got detective's intuition! ★ So you wouldn't be able to get away with much, Mom. That's **really** what the question was about, right? You must have abused it way more than I did. This town's too small to sneak around in, remember?_

_Why can't you sleep? I bet Dad's fine. The only problem I see him having is staying awake at work. But here's a box, Mom. If troubles are keeping you up, just put them in it. You can take them out and deal with them in the morning. Maybe I'm wrong, and it's bad dreams? I'll make you a dream catcher. If so, let me know!_ The box he made is small, portable. Slices of paper and a mini pencil are shut way inside the pinwheel of colors twisting the squares together. There's a chance she'll reject it, but it soothes him to give it to her at all.

 _I can't believe you asked me to stay with you! Is it alright? Are you sure? There's no one else I want to spend it with. I know you don't want me to confirm it yet, but that won't change. I' m s_ o _ha **p** p_y. He pauses, tries to re-write the last sentence so it looks decent. 

_This again? I'm disappointed in you, Mom. I thought you weren't going to ask things like that anymore! Did you forget? Or are you that curious? Well... I'll answer you this once._

_I'm not involved with anyone. And I'm not looking-- not yet. I suppose it could just find me, but even then... I'll tell you. It's something I'd want you to know. I'd probably ask you a million questions beforehand, too. Right now, I'm focusing on the both of you. Very time consuming ♪_

_Thank you for the gifts! I have the photos cherished and framed, but you didn't have to send them. I would have answered honestly._ He rewinds, wanting to pin-point what could have given the impression he would have lied at all. He doesn't have to travel far. _That report was heavy. It's a good reminder of how important every detail is, even when it might seem like you have everything together. I'm grateful you offered. It couldn't have been easy to sneak out!_

_Marked the 15th! You'll be surprised at the masterpiece Inaba created. Prepare to lose, Dad!_

_Maybe it's not an end to happiness, but testing our resilience? I guess it hasn't happened to me yet, so I might be wrong, but a single moment shouldn't yank the plug for good. If you could get that high in the first place, the same chance could bring your fortune back. Or, how many times have you lost the shot you wanted, just to capture another from a better angle?_

_We can go star gazing, and pick out all the constellations. You called me your little star, but which kind did you mean? The celebrities, or sky born ones?_

_Love,  
Souji_

He sends this one with a smile on his face, before the day's last pick-up.

*

There's a chipper sound thrashing his ear; he shuts it up, but its message gets across first. _October 2011._ He stumbles out of bed, gropes at the empty drawer. His clumsy touches sober slowly, become more systematic. He stops patting, starts smoothing, every little inch until there isn't one left. Nothing left. Even the dust bunnies packed their bags to flee. Because whatever disaster hit scored a victory against his tank-- the tank so accustomed to years and years of uncertain worrying and empty threats.

No. This is another false alarm. He's hidden it in defiance again. Nothing new. Where? His merciless gaze pick apart the room, acknowledging all the obvious make-shift bushes. Shadow of the couch, always a favorite. Souji examines it, finds the dust bunnies. When he stands, the television faces him, a phantom grin laughing at him beneath its surface. He moves to converse with it. 

He lowers an ear, and his guard, an offer it likes very much. The static whispers pull him closer. One step into the lair and they pounce, answer bared as razor sharp pearly whites to clench around his heart. _Early morning. The sealed case flies through the air, breaks into a new world at the screen's touch._

That's-- _Not right? Then where's the box?_ It must be somewhere. _Drenched in fog._ Well, he can get it back. All he needs to do is... His hand passes through the screen. Fiery tingles race up his arm, battering his indecision. The other side is so cool, so free, when this realm squeezes in on him, sticky and hot. He just needs to turn at the right angle and he can...

Souji whips his hand back, loses his footing and spirals to the table. He halts the approaching footsteps by assuring he's alright early, which he prefers to consider a premature truth. The tiny feet retreat quietly, soon drowned out by the life overclocking his brain.

Reason. Foolish he is, but not crazy. He didn't hide it this time. That's all he's ever had the courage to do. It's nigh impossible to retrieve from the TV, but coercing a dumpster into this act would have brought the same conclusion. He trashed-- _all that planning, all those months, all the impeccable timing, every meticulous note, **them** and each ray of sunshine they sprinkle_ \-- the casket. There must be a fucking good reason. Whatever it is, getting the old case back won't fix it.

Perhaps he's no longer satisfied? He can add a bit more detail, mix in slight care. Not too much, and nothing special, because then he'll see them and--

New letter. Souji's already fetching each bone for the burial. He'll reset the alarm into next week, blame the postman. If the words sound familiar, and they will at this point, he'll tell them he's had the strangest deja vu. No other explanation, right? This month's, October, is from...

The brightest white splashes his mental board, upends his feet and leaves him to flail in that wide, dark ocean. His hand rests on the box with this year's received letters. He almost opens it, but his eyes snag on her photo. His too. The last one came from both of them, just after exams. Right. Mom will send--

His arm knocks something over, and seeing what it is nearly makes him shout. The manuscript. He hasn't even had it for a week and already... Stop. This came in the package with his last letter, his reward for exams. But he got rid of the case before taking a single test. Nevermind, he must have mailed it from a different city; it just took longer to get here. He doesn't need a second...third, letter this month. It's too much, and he didn't write enough for that anyway; he'll be short come March.

Third letter...

He counts and counts, but nothing adds up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changes from original: Souji now replies in a lighter tone about his relationship status. The subsequent passage where he looks at the photo frames has been scrapped.


	10. Distant Doorbell

The closet's not happy today. It's been hissing, and beneath it the shadows gossip-- all hateful comments and vile words. They know what he's up to, conspire to stop it. He touches the handle, lets the acid corrode his fingertips, driving away any nerve he's mustered. Inch by inch his reasonable bones pry the door open, and he's met with the hostility he expected.

A banshee's shriek splits his skull, slicing its way through his insides all the way to hidden crevices-- asking questions, pleading for reprieve. "Why"s, and "How Could You"s, and "Just A Little Longer"s, and "One Last Time"s, and "It's Not Necessary"s. All in that strong, bitter, woman's voice. He wouldn't care, honestly, because it doesn't sound real. It's a fake imitation.

"Just Like You."

He slams the door as his knees hit the floor, while that icy touch lingers on his warm muscles. His fingers are still tangled in the handle when he spins, ready to run and comes stricken face to slighted face with his reflection. It's calm, unlike him, and upset, albeit in a different way. His mirror image halts him, talks to him.

Laughs at him.

 _Here, kitty. Think you're scared now, just wait._ His double fades, reappears all pink lips, dark lashes and cocktail dress. He twirls, Cinderella style, and winks before silently shushing him. Souji's stuck, staring, until a little voice nudges him. _So, tell me. What are you really afraid of?_

The closet door opens, and roars back, eating each bit of exposed flesh. He wants to move fast, but it's hard to remember where things are when you don't want to think. Souji tries not to talk back, because it only gets worse. He goes by trial and error-- right, no, left, yes. But there are too many boxes, and yanking each one is worse than the last-- like going deeper into a cavern and forgetting the way out. He might leave the last chest, and stay in there himself, because maybe she's right. Except that, his reflection smiles again. And it's enough.

When he pulls out, the closet is muted again, as if nothing changed. But Souji's not victorious, yet.

It takes a few trips to get everything down to the lake. The fire he coaxes to assist him drives away most of the cold, and is all the light he needs to see. It gobbles up the first skirt he feeds it, and the three bras following. Her words get louder with each box he opens and fries, but it's too late to stop now. He tries to tame it with little promises-- _this is for the best, honest_. A pair of boots just won't listen-- "You Hate Me, Don't You?"-- he doesn't. He doesn't. And away they go, their last complaining syllable sizzling to silence. He almost feels bad.

He's not pausing to remember the occasion he wore them for, although the days flit by anyway, and in his haste, he nearly makes a mistake. He saves it moments before the embers start their feast, close to being a sacrifice himself. The dress-- a sexy little mermaid number, risky with color-- isn't his. It's hers. The real deal. No replica, no sister, no other. She's worn it twice out, with many more sessions supposedly free from all other eyes. It's survived every donation haul. It's material, but carries a thousand sentimental diamonds. He doesn't remember why-- but he could ask and she would tell-- only that it was a gift from Dad. It hasn't touched his own skin, and he didn't steal it. He rescued it from the garbage. She couldn't have meant to throw it there. It was an accident. So, he's keeping it safe for her.

So it doesn't go into the fire. Unlike everything else. This gets easier, and their cries get quieter. This last one-- third set of clip-on's he stashed-- fusses with enough fury for them all. "You'll Miss Me"s-- but he won't. He offers a fair fight, takes that flight down memory lane for it. With the bathroom secured by lock so his roommates wouldn't intrude, and a mini dress, they might have been his arms, but he knew her hugs once more, heard the energetic bonds of something she could say. He returns then, to Inaba's amber-tinted night. He lets it know that's all it was-- something she _might_ say, and a sensory memory. If he snacks before dinner, there won't be room for the main course. Sugar can't sustain him. It depletes quickly, even when he gorges. And he has nothing for it but cavity upon cavity. He's brave enough to visit the dentist, let her fix him and try whichever meal plan she offers him.

The curls of metal sink into his palm as he bends them under pressure. "Farewell." They're pitched forward to the crackle of flames.

*

Last film session. He should probably be editing now, but there are a few more things he wants to add. He captures everyone, at least once, for a day-in-the-life panoramic segment. Souji smiles; Dad should like this gift. A rootless hiccup jolts his body. He almost drops the camera, reminding himself, _It's an exchange._ The prickling sensation creeps over his legs, ribs, and arms anyway. Lately, this keeps happening. Any time he thinks about the next time they'll speak, it's like a phone call with no one on the other line. And every time he corrects the mentality, it's like a game of checkers when he plays both sides.

He decides to read over some letters tonight.

*

The sun and moon have switched shifts, and Souji's having a mild conversation with the stars. It's soothing to think Mom and Dad could be looking at these same stars. An idea soars across his consciousness. Maybe, if he tells the little bits of light a secret, his parents will hear it too. He gives it a shot.

"I've been eating Uncle's desserts recently. You don't think he'll find out, do you? I'll make it up to him. They'd just go bad, sitting there, right? Maybe I won't eat the next one, and we'll see." At that, a knock bounces off his door, raising Souji's hair. Did Dojima notice? The gentle grin on his face from the doorway says otherwise. Truthfully, his mind's in the same place as Souji's, and he's here seeking company for a grander view of the night sky. Souji agrees at once.

It's when the car wakes up with a yawn that danger trickles into his skin. He asks why Nanako isn't coming; she'd love something like this. Her bedtime, he says. But the clock on the dash glares suspiciously otherwise. The old van feels smaller driving down the street, and sliding down the window only gives the cage bars to ease its once solid walls.

They roll a while in silence, the joyous mood disintegrating with each turn of the tires. Then Souji remembers that his parents can't see the stars. They wouldn't have heard him.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't get a straight answer the first time, and decides not to try again. It's a long ride. Stargazing slumps to the back of his mind.

The radio's singing jazz, but no one's there to listen. Souji's buried beneath a rash of irrationality, working to claw his way out. The scenery isn't helping. He's positive, at least ninety-eight... ninety-four percent, they won't stop in this area. Only if they need something. Like gas. Wide, partially gray eyes swivel toward the meter, confirming that scenario won't happen any time soon. They return to the window, more calm knowing that. The dry, sandy fields are like what she described ages ago-- barren, not counting the critters waiting to munch on smooth little boy flesh. She would leave him alone out there, driving as if she couldn't get away fast enough. Die in a place he doesn't know the name of-- she coined that to be the best part.

Or, she might have. Souji thinks she wouldn't really, but at the time... Right now, it hardly seems real. Helps that it's dark, meaning the sun couldn't bake him crunchy. But she had stories for the moonlight too, right? He wonders if asking her today would draw out a few true tales.

That's when his gaze, idle on the road ahead joining a highway, snapshots a particular sign. One he dreamed of, that somehow, is a nightmare in reality. Some dreams aren't meant to come true. This is one of them.

"Uncle..."

"Figure out where we're going?"

Souji fails to listen beyond that, mind digging up ways to escape this awful mess. Blank. Bad. Insane. Empty. Nothing viable. All he finds, is that once you're so close to the end--

"15 minute countdown."

\--the only way out is in.

He always thought this would be easier. Parked in the complex, he should simply be happy, excited, bounding out there. But right now, his hands are shaking, and he can't even undo the seatbelt. His uncle releases it, tells him to relax, "It's only family." Oh, that makes it worse. So much worse. Next, he's stumbling out the van, being caught by an arm before his face hits the pavement and-- how can this be nerves or elation? Can't he see he doesn't want this, never wanted this?

If this were truly a desire deep in his heart, would he be running ahead like he is? Telling his uncle to hurry up, he's a slowpoke and wasting precious seconds? Would his palms be on the man's back, shoving with all his might until they're on the right landing? Could the light in his eyes, the smile upon his face, be enough to shine the way, even with every other bulb extinguished? Perhaps, just maybe, there could be a small, itsy-bitsy, wish for this.

It won't change the fact he can't have it. 

There's no answer. He rings the bell again, lips slipping into a line. He tries his hardest to ignore the panic washing over his brain. "Did you tell them?"

"I had them keep the night open."

Still, no answer. Not that he expected otherwise. "Did you tell them why?" Dojima shakes his head, but it's for the best. They could've said no. Ha, that's too easy. They'd say, ask Souji. Then, it's his decision. His responsibility to resist temptation, and answer correctly. "Call." It's all he can ask without screaming. Or crying.

He stands at the railing, a little ways away while his uncle begins dialing, so as not to hear the voice on the other end, spoil his surprise. His face is hot, too hot for a November night. When did he let go? Say it was alright, give himself the chance to feel glad he might--

"Said they're home."

Souji stares at the oversized door, which hasn't moved. "Are we at the wrong place?"

"Yeah." The answer makes his heart flutter, despite everything. "It's out of the way, but not too far." How sure Dojima is, already down a couple stairs; the man must not have realized it, but he's the only one moving.

Souji's got his sticky hand attached to the railing, scouring his insides for any glimmer of courage. It's his one chance to back out.

His one chance to jump in.

There's no easy answer-- one's hard to say, but the other impossible to swallow. He'd like more time, just to think it over. But if he doesn't choose now, there won't be a choice.

It's been such a long, long time. And he counts in days, not weeks or months, because every agonizing moment spent away is engraved on his white bones.

"Souji?"

But he isn't ready to break yet. "I'm not going."

"Why's that?"

It burns his throat to say this, and freezes the blood in his veins to do so looking Dojima in the face. But, he needs to stand this ground. "We're not on the best of terms right now, so--"

"A real reason."

"That is..." Souji stops himself, put off by the man's annoyed sigh.

"Give me a break," he mutters to the ground. Traveling back up the stairs, there's not a fraction of happiness along his countenance . "A month ago, you were in _tears_ \--" Souji flinches. "--you missed them so badly. Five minutes ago, we couldn't get here fast enough. Now, you don't want to go at all?" He stops at the edge of the landing. "Work harder on your jokes, Souji. I'm waiting for the punchline."

His mouth is moving, but he knows nothing intelligent can break free of the knot stuck in his throat. It's a tangle of despair, fear, and indignation. "You...you think I'd--" Because he can't make friends with the fact that verbal slap came from someone he assumed would never catch on. "...joke about this?"

"Makes more sense, don'tcha think?"

Souji stares. He's furious to a point where his logic shuts down and lets the rage take control. "It doesn't have to make _sense_. I don't want to go. So, I'm not. End discussion."

"This discussion ends when I say it ends. You're not the one driving. I suggest you get your act together if you want any say in where we're headed."

He shakes his head and whatever thoughts are in it. "I don't need you. At all."

"Do you even hear yourself? Thinking you're a somebody." He sneers, sizing Souji up. "Know who you really are? A boy. In need of his parents."

"Yeah? What would you know about a child's needs? You can't even care for your own daughter!"

The silence cools him down enough to realize what he said. Dojima massages the back of his neck, gaze lost in the floor. Well... it'll be worth it. He can't lose this. Feelings are the smallest thing at stake, here.

Souji walks forward, but his foot can't reach a step before his sleeve gets crumpled by a fist. "I'm not done yet." Fighter. "Let's say I believe your sorry ass excuse."

"It's the truth," he whispers.

The laugh is short, harsh, barely reaches his ear. "Right. I don't doubt it. But there's gotta be more to your little story. That aside. Why not make up with them? Face to face."

"We need more time." More specifically, "I need more time."

"Hasn't it been too long already? I see it on your face. You're scared."

"I'm not scared!" It's an absurd notion. An easy conclusion when no other rational answer presents itself. ...Right?

"Bet you're terrified."

He's not playing this game, not going to let things get any closer. "Think what you want." He turns to leave, and feels his shoulders seized immediately. A rough jerk twists him back around, forces him to confront a stare that holds him stronger than the hands.

"I'll take your word. But you need to justify it. If it's not fear, what is it?"

He has an answer. It's not one he should tell his uncle. Partly because he might take it the wrong way. But he also loves the little secret; it's something they share, just the three of them. He wants to keep it that way, because they haven't been able to share much lately. But that explanation makes him feel naked underneath this pair of cold, scanning eyes. So he thinks of the first reason, that it's necessary, and shuts his eyes.

"Can't even tell me that?"

The guilt invades, hearing a note of concern in the question. He zips his lips, tries to maintain a neutral expression and ignore the hammering within. Eventually, the grip on his arms loosens and Dojima turns.

"Good to know you'll have it all cleared up by Christmas, then."

Souji's inner celebration dies instantly. "She told you?!" He's over the edge before any defense could catch him.

He dangles every bit from the lack of response. His uncle just stands there until Souji's so desperate he asks again. He's rewarded with a slow nod and Dojima's full attention.

"It didn't stop there. She confessed to something else. I found it very peculiar."

"What...might that be?" There's a tingling near the base of his skull, offering escape. He doesn't have to hear this. Shouldn't. He could switch now, accept the blindfold, embrace the headphones that sing him to sleep.

"When's the last time you two spoke?"

It's tempting, forgetting whatever trauma implants itself next. "You know." He declines the offer, for once.

"I'm asking. I want to hear it from you."

 _I want to hear you lie._ That's what he means. Again, the tingling. Again, he refuses. It's dangerous, yes. He can almost see the scythe and skeletal face waiting for him. But he can't let his mirror self, however clever and powerful and _confident_ , shield him again. He can't.

So, he takes a deep breath. Answers the question. "Spring. Before I moved here."

"That's what she told me." No surprises.

"But we write letters!" he rushes in, not wanting to give the wrong impression. "...Easier to talk about nice things that way."

"Strange. I heard she hasn't written a single thing. Not this year. Not last year. Never received anything either. Of course, you text all the time. It's the new thing."

"She's lying." Obviously. He has proof, right on his desk. Something lands in the box once a month, or every other week more now. "She's embarrassed."

"I can't believe that. Well, actually I can." He pinches the bridge of his nose, recalling an unpleasant experience, perhaps. "But not with the way she acted. Every opportunity she found, she asked something. _'How is he doing? Did he make any friends? Does he like it there?'_ You know, the basics. They would have come up in any of your conversations."

"Cross checking. A different perspective, because maybe I wasn't telling the truth."

"She said the same thing. It's weird, like a script you rehearsed. Your mother likes to talk Souji. Even if she's mad, I'm sure she'd call, just to let you know how upset she is."

He's right. "It's different, this time." The numbers in his phone are more comfort, not temptation. He learned in the beginning, when he wasn't so committed, how they'll need to be dialed from another line, because the ringing won't stop if it's under his name. He blocked it once, and hearing her pick up had to be the most horrible sound the world could spit. It doesn't matter if he can call them; if they simply don't want to speak to him, why bother? He left voicemails, once upon a time. Even wondered if they checked it, listened all the way through or hung up inbetween. He lost the guts, or maybe gained the respect, to not do that anymore.

"I'm sure you won't tell me why--" Souji hums, just to confirm. "--I'll skip that part. Now she has to lie about her location? Swears she hasn't been in the country recently. No plans on coming back until next year, even. Why don't you explain that one away?"

It's a challenge Souji can't best. He can't imagine any reason to conceal it. Not when evidence is everywhere else. It doesn't make sense to lie to her son, either. Because what would that do? Excite him? Test him? Crack him? She wouldn't do something like that, unless she had to. So, it must be true; Dojima has the odd story.

 _Unless Mommy didn't write them_ , in which case-- 

"You shouldn't be snooping around in the first place! It's none of your business!" He screams it loud enough to derail his own thoughts. But it doesn't help, and he's left with the wreckage.

"Excuse me?" Insult permeates his features until vexation dominates again. "I called because I wanted to do something nice for you, since you work so hard. Not my fault you're part of a great cover up."

"So, what? Thought you were doing me some sort of favor?" If he weren't so upset, he'd roll with laughter. "Like I needed anyone's permission, let alone yours, to come here? Did you think I wouldn't jump on the first train here? If I'm really as lonely as you say, do you think anything would stop me?"

He's taking his time, just watching Souji, wary as one might be of lion caged for years, now hunting for blood-- for the life of whomever seeks to open those steel doors. "No. I didn't think about it at all. But, now that you mention it, which of the almighty forces kept you away?" 

And he feels every bit a scorned beast on the brink. "Wouldn't you like to know."

The inquisitor stares, as if waiting for something. Whatever it is, he never gets it. His head rests against his palm. Finally, a sigh brimming with tired frustration materializes. "Fine. Don't tell me. But I hate seeing you suffer alone like this. I hope you know I meant it when I said you could come to me about anything, but..." He did, he honestly did, but if he says that now, it'll sound hollow. "Anyway, that wasn't my goal today."

Curiosity's enough to sew Souji's mouth shut. 

"When I was talking to your mother, and she couldn't identify any of the letters I read--"

The stitches snap. "What did you say?" He grinds it out, controlling his breath with minimal success, and his fear with far less.

"Did I stutter? I read them t--"

"You had no right--"

"She _asked_ me to--"

"You read them _to_ her?"

"Yes, I did. But that shouldn't be a problem, considering she _wrote_ \--" 

He can't listen anymore, not with the screeching and blistering sores exploding through his reality. "Why? ...Why. Why. Why why whywhyw--"

"Souji?" He smacks away the hand coming to rest on his arm.

"WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY!" He can't focus straight. "Why would you--" The look on her face must've been... And what she'll assume; _the state he must be in, a damage not worth repairing_...

And when the voice infiltrating his head cuts through the noise, it spouts mess about, "--thering at Christmas? You're definitely not going. Alone, at least. And anything else from that fraudulent sender will be screened for--"

" _No._ "

"Souji, you don't get a choice, it's--"

"I said. No." He needs to fix this; he can fix this.

"I'm not budging on this one. It's dangerous. Besides, I'm sure your parents don't appreciate being misrep--"

"Don't." They don't get a say. "Finish your sentence, go ahead."

He refuses the dare, but possibly more for Souji's benefit than his own. "This is hard on you, I know. And I'm sorry. I brought you here hoping for an explanation. But if you think this is all real, when it's not, then it can't continue. I'm stepping in."

"You don't have a right to do this." His voice is so weak it breaks in half.

"I'm your guardian. I won't let anything happen to you."

"But nothing's going to happen."

"You know this for a fact?" Souji struggles to find something positive to wield. "Explain." But it doesn't work. He can't justify anything without saying more than he wants to. Then there's a palm on his shoulder. As if it could soften the verdict. "Listen, Souji..." He can't do as he's told, can't accept this as being over.

There's a nagging in his psyche that's steadily grown louder all night. It begs him to evaluate the commitment he made not so long ago-- take another look around. He argues back-- he's done a good job, cleaned out his closet. Isn't that enough? This isn't the same, not a trashy placebo. This cannot be a sacrifice. It would make things insufferable. Just this one, that's all he needs. There's nothing wrong with that.

But what can he do? Nothing to bribe with. No feasible threats. No logic to employ. Time has no patience. Maybe he won't do anything. Dojima can read the letters, _no he can't_ , and afterward he'll let Souji. And he can reply, _or Dojima can, with careful questions to find out_ , like always. A monitored exchange, staged and invaded by persons not meant to see. Or, they'll arrive and Souji won't touch a thing because it's the _wrong impression of Mom and Dad_.

He wouldn't survive either.

But what could stop it, unless... No. Out of the question, never an option, nothing to consider. Except that he might be able to live with this. Maybe. If he plays the right cards, and scratches this whole ordeal off as a drug induced hallucination. Yeah. Right... It's the end of the road. He can't turn back. Can't go in reverse. At least with this, the funeral may be more white.

So, he tugs his uncle's sleeve, ready to walk with death. He speaks at a volume that barely carries over the buzzing of his tender nerves. "I know who it is." No answer. He repeats it, clearer this time. "The sender...I know who--"

"I heard you." Souji waits, because Dojima must need a moment. "Let me get this straight. When I asked you the first hundred times if you knew the letters were fake--" drinking that word in is a bit like poison. "--You _swore_ your parents were lying. All of sudden, they're telling the truth, and you know who's been writing them?" He nods, saving his breath for the question coming up. But even with a grasp on the situation, his uncle does nothing more than eye him, with disgust the only readable emotion. "I'm glad for you. Now, do me a favor, and keep it to yourself. Don't think I could believe anything that comes out of your mouth."

The fabric slips past his fingers. He stands by himself on the landing while the strong figure moves farther away. Away from him. Because who wants to associate with a liar?

Souji has the decency not to plead. How could he? When he's already been given so many chances. Didn't he want this? To tend his own devices. No curious onlookers, scrutinizers, or helping hands. This is not the fate he meant to raise, but it is the one he earned. Stranded, right where he belongs in the lake of his small world. Stuck on his proud rock of lies to fall against a tide he knows is coming. Hiding from the lighthouse means he'll have no way back. It should be best, he's gone so far to protect anonymity. But he cracked at the last moment. It doesn't matter if he never tells Dojima. If he returns tonight and opens an envelope, he won't finish the page pretending _it's from her_.

And it wrenches his heart, knowing that's not the problem.

Brittle as his soul may be, he steeled himself to take that back with him, the broken illusion. But no degree of warning could brace him for the sight of watching someone leave with such _intent_ that he can count the miles adding up with each step down. Given the option, he'd trade all the letters cluttering his desk to not play witness now. Because how many letters will he have to write to himself again, next year? And how many to be signed, _Uncle Ryo_ ?

"Stop!" He's not entitled to this. It's low, despicable, and maybe he should be condemned. "Stop!" But he caves, holding nothing in his hands to lose. "Please, just..." Even knowing he deserves the cold shoulder, it's not enough to convince him this outcome is alright. "Let me finish!"

Dojima pauses, feet planted on the third landing. "Why should I believe you?"

Souji almost trips on his way down, excited to receive even the slightest of surrendered seconds, and halted at the hangman's simple speech. He doesn't risk a step without answer, afraid time will fall from what feels like gracious suspension.

His chest tightens and twists, hearing his first reason is a sugarcoated tale. He forsakes it, settles an unguarded reply. "This isn't a bargain. You're going to read them, even if I tell you, right?" He chances a tiny step towards his uncle, who nods in reply. Mentally, it aches that he hoped against that punishment, even given the standing situation. "Then, this is just me, confessing to you." His listener remains silent, and Souji continues forward, both by stair and story. "We don't text, we don't talk. There's been nothing at all, since Spring.

"I knew the letters weren't...." He fights the tears. He's a big boy now. "...from them." He said it. That's one step he hopes is forward. "I wanted... I needed _something_ to keep the distance away. Like anything could..." He laughs at himself. "...But I needed someone. Someone who would do this. For me." Thinking of this someone pulls a brief smile and pushes him to cross the landings with greater strength. "Not an easy find. They had to know enough about my parents to give me something I could believe. Patience. To put in endless hours, all to change their hand to something I might recognize as familiar. The dedication to keep this going long term. Someone who wouldn't question my desire, or force me to fix things, or...make fun of it.

"And I needed to trust them. I'd be sharing my secrets with whoever it was, after all. I didn't know anyone at the time, so I really had no options." Slowly, he sets down a foot on his uncle's landing. "But I knew it could be pulled off, with the right method." What little control remains he focuses on breathing, and persuades himself to look up at Dojima. It's not easy, to let himself be pierced by that impassive gaze. All he can think is _please believe me._ "I found out that if they're done ahead of time, I won't remember. Then there's a certain time, in between dreams, where you can't recall anything that might happen. So, I used those two things, and took in everything else, and I..."

The railing's not enough. He transfers his hand to a buttoned up shirt, lays his head against it too, and that way he doesn't have to look. "I wrote one letter. Then the next. Another after that. And they never wrote back...so, I did it for them." He shuts his eyes when the burning is too much. He says it, quieter, "I wrote them. All of them. Every letter is from me, to me." It's chopped by hiccups. He can't help the hot tears racing down his face, or stop the sobs from choking his windpipe. He stops trying to restrain them when he recognizes his lips are pulled into a smile. It might be harder to breathe, but the air he does manage to swallow replenishes all the needs he neglected for so long. He feels lighter, and his limbs relax like an athlete that finished sprinting a marathon. It does still hurt, the arms rubbing his back remind him of that, and it's sharp like needles. But it's small, minuscule, _weak_ , compared to the overwhelming _happiness_ splashing over him.

He never pictured it feeling this way, so good. All he ever could imagine was sinking into a dark pit, agonizing as quicksand, the moment he opened his mouth. Like running from a shadow, when it was the sun all along.

He told himself not to cry. But he needs an outlet, or he might die of joy. So, he decides not to keep track, lets go of the score.

*

Souji spots the friendly note from the top of the stairs. A line of sticky tape secures it to the door at a height Nanako couldn't reach. One solid line: _I didn't read it._

He stalls by not opening the door immediately. He fingers the text, and spares a second, a minute, for gratitude. Grateful because no matter who writes them, they're still _personal_ , and he relaxes without another pair of pupils over his shoulder. Yet, that's not the best part. He's far more thankful to hear the underlying trust given once more. With peace of mind, he dazedly pops open the door to a region he's come to consider a safe haven-- all bad memories shoved out a window. Normally, mail from home wouldn't be grouped with those. But today's different.

He feels locked inside, squaring off against a box, but what is he to do? The gift does nothing to entice him, its unique flavor soured just nights before. It sits, lonely because his hands don't ravish its blind surface. He doesn't have the nerve to touch it. Nor does he _want_ to lay hands on it for any kind action. Souji wonders if his mother felt this way, staring at him, something she crafted and sickened by the fact. A truth they can't deny; something so pathetic came from her. A crime he's now given birth to himself. And still, repulsive as it is, both need that injustice to survive, like water for their bodies.

He fools with the idea of falling asleep and waking with an oblivious memory. It summons the past-- a day he remembers fondly. After finally having written a letter in straight mentality, the world granted him a small miracle. He slipped into blissful dreams, sealed letter clasped within tiny hands. Dawn prickled his eyes open, and dim light glistened on the treasure found atop his belly. His desolate face morphed into one of scary excitement as he tore into the devilish sweet destined to end his starvation. Her honey glazed tone bewitched him into believing winter ended and summer came to visit. The spell broke once he tried to answer a blank address. He longed to bury himself-- partially crushed by sadness, more ashamed he harbored such deceitful hope. Only deserving boys received fairytale endings, silly. But the trickery inspired a manipulative method he would later use.

He abandons that tactic in a gutter, now. Admitting it aloud condemned him to this destination. Once awake, it's impossible to embrace the same dream.

The voices reverberating within scare Souji from time to time. They do so now, as he hears the all too simple words, _it's okay_. His response emerges as another language, one of pure emotion, and it frightens him, possibly more. Because he _knows_ , he _understands_ what's been said, even if a piece of him doesn't desire the power, the _responsibility_ , it entails.

But he agrees, regardless, unable to stop it-- It is okay.

It's okay.

Perhaps, better than okay. Because truth isn't free. It comes at the price of fiction. He consented while watching every thread turn to ash, it was a fortune worth spending. 

He can handle opening it himself. All he needs is a little help, someone to hold his hand. It's not outrageous to ask, and vastly better than hiding and watching. A similar set of hands ghosts over his own sitting atop the cardboard. It's the security he wished for, a steady presence to catch him if he falls.

He pries apart the package; inside is a series of warm weather guards, all chic and high end brand. He must have picked these up on one of the nights he came back with a dress. He doesn't remember them, but that was the point. One by one, they pool on his lap-- scarf, earmuffs, gloves. Perfect timing. He'll wear them tomorrow. At the bottom is a letter, every curve of the pen a replica to hers.

He picks up the paper, and finds it shaking like a bus ride through unpaved territory. So, he uses the table as his music stand and crumples his fists beside each knee.

_Dear Souji,_

_It's happened again. We heard a suspicious noise before leaving for work today. Turns out it was just a cat. Then your father disappeared during lunch and never returned. I thought he got pulled to work on another project, but when I got home, guess where he was? Sitting outside playing with the cat brigade. I finally dragged him in, but he hasn't stopped sneezing. What should we do with him? I vote auctioning._

Ah. Right. He's fairly certain his father isn't allergic to cats, but it's a nicer reason than the one he was given for leaving behind Cat Burger. If this were to be her way to make amends, Souji would feel open to apologizing too.

_How do you like the presents? When I found these in the window, I envisioned you wearing them much better than the mannequin. I hope you didn't already buy something yourself. Then again, it wouldn't matter, would it? These can be your favorite! Your father's sending a coat soon, so be on the lookout for that! I can't be there to keep you warm personally, but maybe these'll do the trick?_

_Speaking of, it's gotten so cold around here! Seems like I'm not used to the weather changes in my own home anymore. No one in the office can agree on a stable temperature, so I take my breaks at the coffee shop a little ways down. They have a delicious strawberry cake (which can be drizzled with chocolate if you know who to talk to!), but...it's one of the few things that still taste sweet, so I try not to eat it often. Don't wanna grow immune to that too. Everything else is the same, alternating between bland and bitter. I've been everywhere: five stars to no stars, and even our classics. Your father says they're divine, so I guess it's just me. I wish this condition were new, but it's been so long I can't remember how some signature dishes tasted in the first place. Even the smell and texture deny me pleasure-- the lot's got a putrid odor and slimy skin. I could eat the same thing day after day for all the difference it makes._ This... She's suffering. Like he is, because they're separated. Why else would he want her to write a sad experience? _Of course, that wouldn't be healthy. Thankfully, I haven't had any dreams where lobsters disembark from a plate to chew my face off (or chase me down never-ending flights of stairs)._ Magic words, successfully restoring cheer.

_Oh yes, and Souji, thanks for the box. I haven't done extensive testing with it, but so far the nightmares are less frequent. I wonder why it works. Could it be that its intended purpose is effective, or is it the gift aspect? There's a theory circling my head, but it's probably better if I don't say. Plus, I have your CD. It doesn't do a thing for dreams, but I wouldn't have any of those if I couldn't get to sleep, right? I play it at night when hundreds of problems gallivant through the fields in my head. The songs are beautiful, so I always think of you. Much better than any teddy bear. The best lullaby I've ever drifted off to ♥_

His hands unfurl at that, because he didn't expect her to listen. What are the odds, that he would get a positive reply to a matter so coincidental? He's never recorded anything before, so to predict that he would so far in advance... Maybe he knows himself that well.

 _Our little star... Yep, sounds right. I'm surprised you like that name...it's so vain! Guess you do take after me!_ The sound of her laughter, bold and bright, lends itself to his ears. _Now, toss this in your noggin: you're asking about a difference which doesn't exist. Stars on TV, stars in the sky, are all the same. Why do you think they share the name? You wish upon the lights at night, and shove those same dreams on whatever famous dove you find. Stars always burn out too. That's why you should watch your hours, before they slip into weeks and years you can't remember spending anywhere._ There were dark, discouraged times where he didn't exactly try his hardest. Is this a reminder of that?

_It's OK if you don't want to make like bunnies, but this youth won't last forever. There are things I expect from you, but I still want you to have fun. Don't get so tied up in my wants that yours become phantom energies._

_My life_ | _Your life._

_Understand? It gives me chills when you put your foot down. I can't promise you'll always get your way, but show that moxie!_ Just what he wanted her to say. Maybe what she's been trying to say too. If he pages through a mental photo album and compares instances of her utmost satisfaction and disappointment, are they really so disjointed? Could she have grinned if he didn't throw in the towel so often? Would she have ignored him and gone about her day if he hadn't found a loophole in her plan? He'll find out, if given another chance.

 _I trust you to make good decisions. Of course, being human we can't always do that, which is my undercover reason for probing. I wanted to see if you could still depend on me. At times, you'll get in over your head, but don't be too resentful or scared to talk to me. Alright? I know it's more like you to choose your father. I'm a bit of a wicked witch, aren't I? It's fine. Just don't keep your fears bottled up._ He has no recollection of ever feeling bitter enough to shun either of them throughout this process. Perhaps another student supplied the concern. It's not too farfetched from a subject that might wind her up. _I worry about you... Even though I shouldn't. My little brother's taking good care of you._

 _He tattled so much when we were kids! Couldn't keep a single secret. Makes sense he'd turn into a cop. I just know he'd arrest me if he found out certain things. There was one time I stayed out five minutes past curfew when Mom and Dad were out. 5 minutes!!! And I got grounded for a week because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Never mind that he should've been in bed himself. "She woke me up coming in late." Please. He stayed up all night with his video games._ He laughs, but every trace of it is erased by the letter's end.

_That was a harmless occasion, but not all of them followed that rule. He never caught me on the worst days, and I got away with a few suspect activities._

_Have you ever wanted to be forgiven so badly it drove you crazy? You'd confess, or beg, even bargain? Anything to help, despite the senseless stupidity? Every now and then, I get those urges. Then I remember it never works for me. It's the punishment I seek. Which would you prefer, Souji? To move on, anyway._

_Love,  
Mom_

He might have desired reassurance at her guilt, but what possessed him to drum up a question with such a painful and obvious answer?

*

He's going to write them. How could he not? He'll do so until there's nothing left to say.

_Dear Mom & Dad,_

_I saw Mr. Hoppity in the lawn yesterday. He stuck around to play a bit, but I think he misses Nanako. I gave her a picture incase he doesn't come out until Spring again. I'm trying to make her stay a little brighter, especially when they lock us out. My friends and I are making pinwheels to hang from the ceiling, and ribbons for her bed. She'll find a rainbow anywhere she looks ♪ We're also carrying out operation: Distract Dojima-san. He has too long to sit and think. I lent him a pack of cards to practice tricks with, and assigned him homework so he can't slack off. So far, he's flunking: D-! The nurses giggle every time he messes up. He needs to get serious!_

_Your gifts are perfect, Mom! They're so cozy ♥ Thank you! It's getting chillier by the hour. Countdown to winter! Hope it snows soon._

_I'm so glad you liked the CD! I didn't want to ask, because you might've needed more time with it, but the nerves were chewing away at me! I'm happy you sleep better at night, too. That's all I really wanted. ...Being the cause is going to keep **me** up all night grinning._

_Mom, it's okay. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have screamed that you chased him away. I'm sure he liked me too. I don't think it was anyone's fault he ran away. Cat Burger's gotta be a drifter, right? Like us. Thanks for helping me look for him. Saying goodbye made it easier. Oh, and I don't think you should auction Dad. We wouldn't get much. Let's just sit him in time-out._

_I'm trying to earn forgiveness right now. I couldn't live with the punishment alone. I think a little of both is best to move on with. I don't know what you did, but if you're sorry, you've taken one step forward already. I hate seeing you so hard on yourself. Please? Even if you have regrets, aren't there some things you always want to remember?_

_You're going to worry me. Get your thoughts out of the dark, Mom. If it's too much for me to handle alone, I'll tell you. Nothing's going to change that._

_And don't try to scare me. I proudly accept my role as your little star. Stand by watching. One day, you'll be amazed._ When that happens, he hopes she'll crown him with the title again.

_Love,  
Souji_

He squeezes it into an envelope. Stamps it. When the bottom drawer pops open, he's surprised to find the mailbox missing. Instances of a few weeks past skitter through his mind, reminding him that he threw it into the TV. He frowns, but it's not a problem. He'll just put this one somewhere safe and private, like the last one.

Where did he put the last one?

The mailbox, his brain supplies. The residential mailbox.

Alright, so he'll...just...

_What._

He did, he remembers. But _why?_ What infected his sense of reason. Not that it matters. It should have been returned to him. Because the address doesn't exist. It never does.

Except this once, because a caring uncle pulled up to the flat and his nephew knocked on the door and _why wasn't it returned?_ Souji remembers his parents getting bills that weren't theirs when they moved to a new place. They never kept them. Is this not the same? Maybe the apartment is vacant, and no one could return the mail. Yes.

He stretches and maybe pulls a heartstring, because it's a dreadful _snap_ when it occurs once again that he doesn't have his personal mailbox. He won't get another letter from them unless he writes it himself-- in the exposing light. And he just can't handle that right now. It's easier to not receive a response at all.

At least he deserves a pat on the back for concocting the best batch of letters yet. How strange would it be for Mom to mention Dojima-san if he stayed at another boarding school? Then again, it's another brand of strange for them to answer his questions on cue, enjoyable as it was. Must be the magic of subconscious. And then to change addresses so he could receive their letters faster was probably his most clever idea. But his favorite experience was receiving gifts. The flowers were beautiful.

Otherworldly beautiful.

And so fresh.

It should have been impossible to arrange the delivery of fresh flowers a year in advance to a house in a city he might not have stayed at.

The second hand on his clock steadily revolves from twelve to eleven.

Souji decides that sometimes, if it should be impossible...

it is impossible.


End file.
